A Sword Cuts A Swordsman
by DisobedienceWriter
Summary: My ideas file for the Game of Thrones. These are short stories that may or may not become longer pieces. Many are about the consequences of cruelty or other rash acts.
1. Tests of Honor: Catelyn

X-X-X

Tests of Honor: Catelyn

X-X-X

 **Catelyn**

The table was full of good things to eat. But Catelyn wanted none of it that morning. Her husband had just said that her son was to begin learning the ways of the sword. No. No, she wouldn't have it.

Robb was seven.

Bad enough she was in this cold, brutal place. Bad enough there were none of her family around or her father's bannermen. She wouldn't let this barbaric northern traditions win out.

"It's too early, Ned," Catelyn said.

"Too early to learn how to use a sword safely?"

"Robb is too young."

"They're wooden swords. They'll wear padding, if you insist. But a man in the North must be able to defend himself. Many women know how, too."

"If you think I'll allow Sansa..."

"We're talking about Robb and Jon."

"I care not for your other son, but I do care for Robb. I do not want him to do this."

"Do you love Robb?"

What? How could he ask that? "More than anything."

"Do you want to him to survive to be a man?" Ned asked.

"Of course."

"He must be a good fighter. At least as good as any Stark bannerman. If he cannot swing a sword well, none of our bannermen will support him. One or more might begin to plot again him. It can be a very lonely place in the North. It can be very deadly. He must do this. He must start now."

She screwed up her face, then consented. What other choice did she have in this horrible, barren place?

X-X-X

Catelyn stood out of the way and watched this first lesson between Robb, Ser Rodrik, and the bastard.

The boys wore padding. They used wooden swords. There was no grace or beauty in what they did.

"Again," Ser Rodrik cried out.

So the boys set to attacking each other again.

One of the bastard's hits made Robb cry out and drop his sword.

Catelyn ran forward and knocked the bastard down. "You stupid, stupid boy."

She picked him up and beat him with her hand. She beat him until she could see he was bleeding. "The Maester will not help him at all. You will never look at my son again, bastard."

Men pulled Catelyn away.

Ser Rodrick unfastened the bastard's padding and called for the maester.

"I said you cannot."

"Send for the maester," Ser Rodrik said again.

Catelyn hated the man in that moment. Another enemy in this foreign place. She would get her way. She always had.

"Take this one to Lord Stark."

Ser Rodrik had the grimmest sort of look on his face.

It mattered not. She would see him banished.

X-X-X

The guardsmen stopped and opened the door to Ned's solar.

"Come in," her husband demanded.

Catelyn held her head high and walked inside. Ned would be angry, but he would not hold this against her. He hadn't yet. He felt his own shame over the bastard and he wouldn't make a war this time either. She understood him. She had almost gone too far. Murdering the bastard would be too far. Everything else was permitted so long as it was done in private. Her great sin this day was acting as she wished in front of witnesses. Well, she could learn.

Catelyn moved toward a chair.

"I did not give you leave to sit."

What? She faltered but stood.

"I did not know you when we married. Father didn't either when he arranged the match. Maybe Brandon knew you..."

He blamed her? He questioned her? No, this was about the bastard... "I told you I would not have my son hurt, not by..."

Her husband was quiet as he usually was. "Fine. You don't want an explanation about why I needed to see who you were? Then we will discuss what will happen."

She already knew. She would apologize. And nothing else would change. Except she would wait for private moments to hurt the bastard. She would never lose her temper in front of others again.

"Your Father sold you to us in marriage. I will not undo it. It is our mistake."

"Mistake!" If this man thought to get another child off her he was mistaken. A mistake, indeed. His!

"I cannot permit you to remain here with whatever rage or foulness you carry within. You are not the woman I thought you were nor the one bargained for by Father. You are not kind or gentle or worth all this bother..."

She fumed with every word he said. "You would say these things to me over your bastard?"

"I was waiting to see if you would curb your abuse, Catelyn, if you would ever be a mother to him. Instead, you struck him and tore the flesh of his face. He is six and has never done a thing to you."

"He lives..." She couldn't believe she had said that. It was true, just not a true she ever meant to state aloud.

Her husband was colder now. "I was sad to leave you out of my counsels and my trust since we wed. But I was right to. Jon was your test..."

"Why should I be tested? Jon was _your_ test of fidelity. One you failed by bringing your bastard home."

"Is he my bastard? I never said that. I said he was a Stark, which is true."

"But...

"I have no bastards."

She believed him. He could not lie. "Then who is Jon?"

"Why would I tell you this when you act as you do?"

"Who is he?"

"Perhaps Jon is a distant cousin who favors the look of my grandfather. Perhaps he is one of Brandon's bastards, as my brother fathered several. Jon is not mine, though I love him as a son. And you are no fair mother, Catelyn Tully."

Tully? She was a Stark now – and reforming this pack of savages was hard effort. Though, if this were true...she had been a fool. "It's all different if he's not your son."

Her husband shook his head. "I am setting you aside. I will take no other wife while you're alive. You will not remain here in Winterfell."

He sounded like he had just sentenced a poacher to die. He meant it. He meant every word.

"You can't..."

"I may send a letter to Jon Arryn advising him of your conduct and to have him watch your mad sister, the one he married. The gossip from court even filters back North. She is a disgrace from what I understand."

"Where am I going, then?" Riverrun? Home?

"You're of the North now. You will have a comfortable home on Bear Island. I know that the Mormonts are quite good at repelling the invaders. They only lose five or six people a year. I hope you take up the sword or a mace. Your protection will be your own responsibility."

He meant for her to die. Her husband was going to have some reaver murder her on a distant island... "But, it's all different."

"I know what kind of woman you are. That does not change."

All the things she had said and done to the bast... to little Jon. No. Her husband had seen every one of them and forgotten none. He was as cold as she was hot in his style of rage. All the worse for her.

"You are not worthy of living in Winterfell. As I will raise our children in the Northern way, I will tell them why I sent you off. Robb and Jon, at the very least, will approve. Sansa, Arya, and Bran are younger and will forget you."

Yes, they would.

"Will I have no guard? No companion?" Someone to get a message to Riverrun.

"We will send your septon and septa with you. We will also clear out the Sept as we have no use for it. Silly bunch of principles if you can't even abide them yourself."

This could not happen. She had to convince him otherwise. She had to stop this. "I am a good mother."

Her husband shook his head. "Not for the North."

"You're setting me aside for some second cousin?"

"He was your test."

And she hadn't even known there was one.

"I do not expect to see you again. I plan to remarry after your death. I may have to war with your father, but I've drawn up plans. The siege of Riverrun will be short if it happens."

"But..."

"It's always this way when a Stark marries South. We always test. Some pass, some don't. I gave you longer than I should have and Jon suffered for it. No longer." Ned nodded to two guards who had been in his solar the whole time. "Take her. The wheelhouse she brought with her will carry her north at once."

X-X-X

Her 'home' on Bear Island was no home. The septa had died. The ground had been too frozen to bury her. That horrible Mormont insisted that the septa be burned like some heretic.

The septon had tried to get into Catelyn's room again the night before. He had cooed at her through the locked door, making promises to her.

She was not safe here, not from the septon or the Mormonts or the other families here. She had carried a dagger since she arrived. Now she was most worried about her own people, not these Mormonts.

The septon had eyes for her. He and that septa had carried on as if they were trash in the street clanking together in the wind.

The horns blew in the distance. The horns signaling that arrival of unknown boats or ships. Raiders. Reavers.

She could hear the fighting and the screams. They were close. She could smell smoke. She could hear death.

 _Father, avenge me._ She used the dagger on herself. _That was an end to it, to the cold and the hate. I_ _did done nothing wrong. Please don't let them burn me._

X-X-X

 **Eddard**

He looked at the coded message from Bear Island. _Killed herself during an Ironborn raid._ Catelyn had always been a weak person.

Well that wouldn't do for southron consumption.

He got out some parchment and ink.

 _To my good-father Hoster Tully, greetings._

 _I am afraid I write with dire news. My wife, and your daughter, was traveling to Bear Island in my name on a journey to see many of the major houses of the North. Ironborn raiders heading to Bear Island discovered her slow-moving procession first. My wife's guards perished protecting Catelyn's wheelhouse, and the septon and septa who traveled with her. Their bodies have not yet been found. She had wanted to take Robb with her, but he was sickly just before she was meant to depart. Our four children all remain safe here in Winterfell._

 _We will hold a service before the Old Gods. I do not know the traditions of the Seven. If you wish to hold an additional service at the Sept in Riverrun, I would bring our children south._

 _I plan to build a fortress on the western shore to start beating back the Ironborn. I am sorry it is too late for my beloved wife. She was the most beautiful Lady of Winterfell in many years._

 _Eddard Stark_

 _Lord of Winterfell_

 _Warden of the North_

Ned read it through again. It gave Catelyn a far more noble end than she deserved. A good story, all these guards dying to protect a woman and two zealots of the Seven in something useless like a wheelhouse. It would sound right to southron ears. Hoster was one for good stories.

Though he would build that fortress and have a good reason to give those who might object. Perhaps he couldn't name it as he wished – the Iron Bitch – but it would be regarded as a fortress in the memory of Catelyn Stark.

Ned called through his open door, "Get me Jory Cassel."

One of the guards moved with rapid dispatch to do just that.

A good lie was more comfort than the truth. Wasn't that what southrons believed? Or at least it's what they did. No one in Winterfell would ever tell the true events to some southron, not after Catelyn had beaten a Stark in a training yard.

She might have been beautiful, but she was also the most hated Lady of Winterfell in many years.

The timing was inconvenient, though. A year from now his lords would begin visiting Winterfell without being called to do so. Many would bring their widowed sisters or unwed daughters with them. Ned could almost hear the conversation. He would have to pick a new wife, a Northern wife.

This one he would test, too. Not with a bastard. Something else, some other test. He would need to think on it. Maybe a test of loyalty. Did her ambitions lead her to protect or betray the Starks? A useful thing to know.

Jory was in the doorway. Ned looked to the guard who was playing messenger, "Ask Maester Luwin to see me. We have some messages to get out to all the houses of the north."

The game of weddings was about to start up again. Even an aging lord who had four children was a pretty good prospect for the more ambitious of his lords, the ones who most needed some appeasement.

"Jory, come in. I need to seal this letter and then I'd like you to ride for Riverrun. My wife is dead, killed by the Ironborn."

"I am sorry, my Lord."

He didn't sorry at all. Yes, she really had been hated. Ned had let her do as she liked for too long. A shame.

Maybe he really should send a letter to Jon Arryn. If Catelyn was the better sister, what was Jon saddled with?


	2. Tests of Honor: Luwin

X-X-X

Tests of Honor: Luwin

X-X-X

"Why did you do this?" Luwin asked Lord Stark.

He knew what the message from Bear Island had really said – and he knew why Lady Stark had really been sent there. There was no formal divorce in Westeros, but many a lady-wife probably wished there was. These informal forms were far crueler and sometimes deadly.

"I asked her to be kind. I pleaded with her many times. She always said she would and did differently. Always. She lied to me a dozen times about Jon. Who knows what else she lied about? I tried to follow what I learned from Jon Arryn and his house words, As High As Honor."

Luwin had heard or heard of several such conversations. He nodded.

"It did not work with her. I kept begging. She kept lying. That day in the yard when Jon bled, it was the end."

"But to send her to die?"

"It was not my first choice. I had thought to scold her again this time. But she would have said a few words, the correct words, then her behavior would have continued."

That also was true. Luwin had seen it many times from the late Lady of Winterfell.

"Do you know that I have had to relearn what it means to be a Northman?" Lord Stark asked.

"Why would you need to relearn something like that?" Luwin asked

"The Stark of the Vale. The Stark of Riverrun. Those are the rumors, the laughs at my southron wife and my southron heir, Robb, with his Tully features. I've heard rumbles of discontent."

"There is often some focus of unhappiness," Luwin said.

"It's not enough to say there is always discontent. This could be something dire if left to fester. So I decided to see what other Starks did. We have married south in the past. So I went back in the records we keep and I read them."

"And what did you learn, my Lord?"

"We are as stern as our name and as ferocious as our sigil. Because we have to be. This castle is as strong as it is because we fight up here. We fight a major war at least once per generation."

And Starks hadn't gone to fight in a southron war in some time, excepting the Rebellion. Which, to Luwin, meant they fought raiders or wildlings or rebel lords. But what was Lord Stark's point? "Which means..."

"We do not surround ourselves with liars if we expect to survive."

"She may not have been honest about Jon..."

"We let people show us what they are with the things they do. In this case, promises and results. Then we Starks reward them or punish them. Words don't matter much. Actions do, especially hidden actions. They might matter most of all."

But that was the way of horror... At least to Luwin's thinking. He realized, of course, he was also southron and had been raised outside the North. After so many years here, he was still trying to understand the North.

"That actions are the only thing that matters was what I had forgotten with Jon Arryn. He believed in words and promises and plans. Well, that got me a refined lady beating a child bloody. You see how hard a child Jon is and how happy Robb is. There's a reason why they're so different. Jon is already a short man. See how he grits his teeth and expects the worst of things. Robb is still a boy. Catelyn Tully, with her lies, did that and, because there was no punishment from me, encouraged others to do more and worse. Jon suffered and I let it happen because I wanted peace between my lady-wife and myself. I feel the guilt of it because I am guilty, Luwin."

Yes, that much was clear now. "But, to let the Ironborn..."

"A woman who lies to her husband about what she will do. A woman who plots to do harm to a child. How could I trust her here? How can you reason with hate and lies? You cannot. I chose not to risk Winterfell so she could do as she wished. I am less of a risk-taker these days."

Luwin felt Lord Stark's eyes on him.

He wasn't just talking about Catelyn Tully now. He was talking more broadly about lies, liars, and taking risks. Lord Stark was now talking about his maester. Luwin had the sense he shouldn't get this question wrong.

"Can you keep this to yourself?" Lord Stark asked.

"My Lord..."

"Can you?"

"Yes." Why was he so insistent?

"I don't know how many other lords notice, but the Reach always knows about the North's harvests before the Lords of Winterfell have the final numbers. It's been going on longer than my grandfather's days, at least according to the records he left. The factors and haulers never failed to make contact early in the Autumn. The numbers they sent to us were scarcely wrong by much. How much we needed. How much we could afford. They made lovely pelts of Northmen ever autumn."

How...

Of course. Reports from the varied keeps to the Citadel...

The Citadel didn't just collect information. It had to find ways to profit from it as well. Ways that now put Luwin in a very dangerous position. The fools...

"I do make reports to the Citadel..."

"I know. No reports about this. Nothing more than what goes out to my bannermen."

Lord Stark might have been born a second son and been taught in the Vale, but he'd caught up to some of the wilier of the Northern lords.

Luwin wondered what would happen if he kept to his vows to the Citadel? Would he be sent fact-finding to Bear Island, too? Perhaps North of the Wall? In a place like this, there were more ways to kill a man than anyone could count.

"It shall be as you wish," Luwin said.

"On this and all other things, Luwin." This wasn't the barely-a-man who came back from Robert's Rebellion. This was a Lord of the North, as hard as winter itself. Luwin shivered a little.

"Aye."

"I don't know why your order has set itself to spying like it does. I heard enough stories about your predecessor Walys that I was a bit hesitant to trust you. But I do trust you, so don't ruin it."

"No, I won't, my Lord."

"When the time comes, I will explain myself to Robb and the other children about their mother and what really happened to her. Perhaps they will understand. Or not. They can exact a punishment if they think it fair."

Without Catelyn around, everything will be different for Jon Snow. "But Jon will have grown up their brother. They won't understand why she was so cruel."

"But Jon won't have forgotten. Nor Robb, I suppose."

Clever. "No."

His children would forgive Lord Stark for the loss of a mother because Jon would speak for him. Robb was the heir, but it was clear that Jon was the Stark of Starks for their generation. He was the one who was as hard as winter. And a southron woman had made that happen too early.

Lord Stark had killed three, a noble woman, a septon, and a septa, to keep Jon safe. Lord Stark meant to do something for the boy, make something of him. Luwin would keep an eye on Jon Snow.

"You're a good man, Luwin."

"Thank you, my Lord."

"Don't forget you work for Winterfell, for the Starks. The Citadel that trained you will never understand us and our 'rough' ways. I almost forgot just from being away for a time, learning the lessons my father told me to learn in the South. Perhaps that was what my father and my foster-father Jon hoped. That we could be more southron up here. I am a little surprised at my own father, for he was born here and knew better. He was southron-minded, but not a dreamer."

Was it a dream to lay down arms at every insult, and battle with words for a time before resorting to steel?

"Those who never come here to see how hard it is to survive, they do not learn why we have our traditions. We do not tolerate a liar, even a wife. We do not tolerate a child beater. We are wary of a secret plotter."

The new rules of Winterfell? "Yes, my Lord."

"When you counsel me, I expect your advice, not something someone else has scribbled and sent North."

This was dangerous territory, the kind that saw necks cleaved in two. Lord Stark suspected, but had not accused, Luwin and his gray brothers of a form of treason. "Yes, my Lord."

"I would not forget my words again. Winter is Coming. My late lady-wife forgot the words of her birth house. Family, Duty, Honor. For Jon was family and duty. There was no honor in what she did or thought. Let's be about remembering, not forgetting."

Lord Stark nodded at the door.

Luwin walked calmly from the room, but his heart was a little rabbit chased by a mastiff.

Luwin had survived that, but he knew that Lord Stark was watching.

How did he think he could keep the story from getting out? The Mormonts or some of the small folk of Bear Island would allow the story out eventually. The real story would circulate among the Northern lords. Most of them would approve. Even the ones who squawked would approve without feeling any need to say it aloud.

Lord Stark wasn't ignorant of what would happen. He expected gossip and fear. For the Tully had been a Southron woman... And these were a fiercely clannish people. The late Catelyn had made enemies without even knowing it.

He knew the story would circulate. And Lord Stark had just made a display that would quail even a rebel lord. If he did that to the mother of his beloved children, over her cruelty to his bastard, what would he do to just another of his lords?

Maybe he just wanted a delay? If, or when, the truth made it south of the Neck, there might well be war. This Eddard Stark, who knew what he might do in that sort of war? He was a harder man now than when he'd returned from Robert's Rebellion.

Strange that peace would harden him more than war, but that could be a father's response to those who might attack his children. Even the least among them.

Luwin reasoned as he returned to his tower. He had to make this right in his mind or the warning would never settle.

He had a duty of care to Winterfell, yes. He also had other obligations to the Citadel. Which were now in conflict, dire conflict. One would have to win out, but only one would get Luwin killed.

Luwin decided. He would report to the Citadel only what the other lords were being told. Could he do anything other? He rather liked his own neck. If some other maester sent a different message, then Luwin would see what was what.

Time. It was about time now. Luwin rather expected that Lord Stark was just wishing for some time to prepare. He might already be thinking of war if the South demanded it. They'd sent him a cruel bride and he was still in full wrath over it.

Luwin would not be responsible for starting a war with some loose bit of gossip. No.

X-X-X

A/N: For those who believed I was excessively harsh toward Catelyn Stark in the previous chapter, please read her words in Game of Thrones (the first novel in the series). Her character in the TV show is considerably less unpleasant than her character in the books, which may explain the confusion.

Think of her like a Cersei Lannister without the extracurricular affairs. Instead, Catelyn focuses all her conscious rage on Jon Snow. (When Ned decides he must assist King Robert at King's Landing, Cat says to him that she will throw Jon out of Winterfell when Ned leaves. Luwin comes up with the compromise of the Night's Watch.)

Catelyn is also, by accident, the most effective villain of the book, blundering from one disaster to another, always thinking she's helping. 'Ned, listen to my sister's letter about the Lannisters killing her husband. Go protect your friend King Robert.' 'Trust my friend Petyr Baelish in King's Landing.' 'I think it's wise to capture Tyrion Lannister as a hostage.'

This story fragment didn't fit into a 'Rickard Stark and family' tale I am working on. But I wanted to get it out of my head. I didn't expect it to be so controversial.

X-X-X


	3. Tests of Honor: Robert I

X-X-X

Tests of Honor: Robert I

X-X-X

Robert loved a war. Killing squids wasn't as good as killing dragons but it would do. Stannis and the fleet had come through, finally, and they had put a number of Ironborn nobles to the sword. At last they were on Pyke.

Good, for the losses on Robert's side were mounting.

The Lannisters were down thousands of men. The Reach a similar number. Dorne had kept out of things, useless as always. Fighters from the Vale had done well and the North even better. The various fleets were at half strength if not a bit less. However, the Riverlands had been a bad joke.

Its major house was down a lord and heir. Hoster Tully was dead from a wound in battle though his heir, that idiot Edmure, had died first after being kicked by his own horse. Brynden the Blackfish was now Lord of Riverrun. He'd need to wed.

He wasn't the only one. Ned Stark needed a new wife. Jon Arryn needed yet another new wife, his fourth. Both had lost their Tully wives some time before. Come to think of it, the Tullys had produced poor stock this generation. Might have been the Whent marrying into the line? Whents and Harrenhal produced bad memories for Robert.

Jon Arryn needed someone hale and fertile who would quicken with child just from her husband's look...

If Robert could dump Cersei on either one of them... But, no, Tywin Lannister was looming over his marital bed like a ghost. Then Ned had already decided he would marry in the North. Robert couldn't disagree. One's bannermen were useful and jealous little things.

Robert was up long before the dawn. His commanders had gotten things organized. Fifty men, well trained at storming castle walls, would go up and clear the top of the wall. Another five hundred would follow to hold the wall and get the gate opened. There were other towers, but if they held this first ugly structure, they'd eventually force all of them out. Starve them or break their will, it was all the same to Robert.

Stannis and Randyll Tarly had put together the plan. Robert didn't much care for either of them, but they were good enough at war. Wet shits as humans. There were enough of those around, but these two were useful in their way.

"Well, when are we scaling that thing?" Robert asked Tarly.

"Soon, first light. You can't do this in the dark, not easily."

"Very first light, then," Robert said.

He walked back to see how the main force was being organized. Gods but these men were ready to fight...

"White flag... White flag... The castle gate is opening... There's a man bound in chain being pushed out...," Tarly stammered. Didn't know the man could be surprised.

Damn that man's eyes.

Robert fixed his eyes on Pyke Castle. Every word was true. The siege broke before the ropemen and laddermen started. Where was the battle Robert wanted?

At least Greyjoy was in chains, betrayed by his own household. Fitting. Robert couldn't trust Greyjoy, so Greyjoy couldn't trust his own people.

The final battle... Robert was disappointed. The war was over. He hadn't spent much time thinking of the after-war at all. He'd prefer to go on and on, conquer more islands, siege more castles. Only there were no more great islands and this was the last castle.

Robert noticed Ned point back toward the royal tent. He wanted to discuss this. Robert would appreciate the help.

"Get good men holding those chains. Search the castle. No killing. If folks resist, seal them in. I suppose we're talking peace now. No harm to them, not until I've passed my sentence."

So off Randyll Tarly went. He could follow an order at least.

Robert invited everyone he had to into his tent. Ned stood in the back while Lannister roared and Mace Tyrell made a fool of himself. The Blackfish spoke some some sense, at least. Robert pretended not to listen to Stannis or the non-entity Jon Arryn put in charge of the Valemen. This was when he needed Jon here, not back in King's Landing. He'd know what to do.

So what to do? Well, he wouldn't do as Stannis proposed, that was for sure. So that meant...

"I'm thinking to take Balon's last remaining boy as a surety of his good behavior...," Robert said.

Which meant leaving Balon alive. The Lannister roared and the Blackfish wasn't happy. Tyrell seemed confused.

"Put them to the sword, your Grace," Stannis said again.

Because he said it, Robert was inclined otherwise. Didn't Stannis know that by now? Wasn't much of a way to govern the kingdoms, but it worked. Always disagree with Stannis.

"Who can hold these savages together other than a Greyjoy? I can't take his head if someone's got to keep these other Iron fools in line..."

Robert wasn't forgetting that a Greyjoy, this Greyjoy, had organized his lords to put on this farce. It was an inconvenient fact. War was filled with them.

In truth, Robert had come to war, not to muddle together a peace. He honestly found he didn't care that much. One solution, another. Whatever. So long as Stannis disagreed with it.

"No, we need Greyjoys on this rock," Robert said.

Well, at least he got a consensus from his lords. Every one of them hated what Robert said. That had to be a first. Again, Robert didn't care.

"You trust the lord who rebelled against you to continue to govern for you? Send him to the Wall. Send his entire line and household to the Wall," Ned Stark said.

Now Robert cared since Ned was finally saying something. Though what he said was true _and_ trouble.

He was a cautious one in this war. His caution had done him well. He'd had only two of his lords wounded. Ryswell would recover, but Bolton's wounds had fouled and he would likely die. The Bolton heir was barely old enough to walk. A bad blow to them. Otherwise, Ned's force was largely intact and his people blooded. They fought damned well, better than most of these boys and children with swords in hand. One should never forget how well the North could make war.

"And what do I do about these damned islands?" Robert demanded of his old friend.

Everyone else was quiet. Finally Robert was listening to someone. None of them wanted to ruin the spell.

"They attacked the Lannisters first. Let the Lannisters control them."

"These islands? You'd give them to the West?" _You'd enrich them that way?_

The Ned that Robert had known for so long would never say such a thing, but things hadn't been right between Robert and Ned since the Sack of King's Landing.

Ned had insisted back then that the Lannister forces be punished for their excess violence during the sack – and he'd wanted heads from those who killed the royals in residence. Robert responded by marrying Tywin's daughter. A punishment for Robert, an honor for the West. Why was everything touching on Tywin Lannister a punishment for Robert and an honor for him...

No, things hadn't been right for a long time. Robert regretted that. He hated that he'd tied himself to Tywin, an old, ugly whore whom Robert couldn't kick out of bed when it suited him.

What was Ned doing? Advocating giving him even more! Ned hated the Lannisters more than Robert did...

"Why?" Robert demanded.

"These islands are a curse," Ned said. "They're trouble, like inviting murderers to live in your keep. If anyone's for wrangling trouble and knocking it down, it's Lord Lannister."

Said Lannister had a dour expression on his face. He didn't like being disrespected even while people were talking about enlarging his own holdings.

"No. Only a sailing lord will be able to hold these people," Robert said. He needed a good reason now that Ned of all people had proposed helping Tywin Lannister.

"Robert, you celebrated the dead bodies of the Targaryens. You were bloody-minded enough then."

Robert felt the shame of it now. Did Ned have to sift through the cold ashes of time like that?

"Now you've brought us all through another war. You have these Greyjoys broken and you won't do the bloody deed?"

Leave it to Ned. He could plainly lay the facts out. Robert didn't want to do it. He didn't want to put these islands into anyone else's hands...

"If anyone should want them dead, it's Lannister or Tully. But you?" Robert asked.

"Yes. All of us here, including Lord Lannister, have troubles with these reavers."

Ned kept saying Lord Lannister, but the tone was something bitter. As if he really meant _King_ Lannister...

Robert knew he lived in Tywin Lannister's pocket. He didn't like to discuss it, but it wasn't a lie.

For that reason, he didn't want to drop more gifts into Tywin Lannister's hand. As it was, he was plagued by Lannisters. He was going to have them as squires when they aged up. He was going to have them as advisors and lenders and tormentors. He had a Lannister wife and a Lannister guard. The food he bought was paid for by Lannister gold and on and on.

No more.

He wished Ned would stop...

Robert felt the result of his cowardice enough every day when he woke and had to break his fast with Cersei or walk down a hall followed by Ser Jaime. He had made a mistake in the early days of his rule and he was still paying for it.

So he was not giving Tywin more land.

"As for the North, the Ironborn have plagued our western shores for centuries and for further back when it was controlled by Hoares or Fishers or whoever else. They've preyed on the Riverlands, the Westerlands, and the Reach. They do not deserve your mercy," Ned said in his even, icy tone.

"Better to control this family of squids than have all of them revolt against Casterly Rock or Riverrun or whoever was handed the mess."

The lords in the tent were unhappy that Ned had failed. Robert was a little unhappy, too. But he was a stubborn sort and wouldn't give up his notions. not if it meant siding with Stannis or being generous to Lannister.

"I'll have no part of your plan if it means that these Greyjoys survive to nurse their grudges," Ned said.

The other lords were wide eyed at that.

"You say what?" Robert asked. Ned was defying him in front of these others. Did he wish to start a steel argument?

"They never forget a grudge. You think Walder Frey of the Riverlands has a memory? These Ironborns are worse. They'll bide their time and try this again some day."

Ned! Robert didn't need this in front of these lords of his. "You're to keep Balon's son. Wash his fool head out and train him up right. Make a lord out of him. Teach him the way that Jon Arryn taught us."

"I'll have no part of it, Robert. It's folly."

Robert was losing his temper now. "Ned..."

"If you do this badly now, Robert, you do it in front of all the warriors of your northern kingdoms. They are looking to you. We came all this way and so many were wounded or died. The fool who started his people burning and plundering is yours. Enough of him. Put an end to it, send him to the Wall or take his head. Show everyone what a King's justice looks like. We are all watching."

As if his reign and its continuance would be decided here and now. Robert did begin to think of how he would stand before men and announce that they would give Pyke back to the Greyjoys. It wouldn't be cheers, would it.

Smart of Ned, crafty. What he said wasn't quite defiance. Ned could have said worse or declared that the North shall never again answer a call from King's Landing. He'd looked ready enough.

"Do not set us up for another conflict when the child Greyjoy is a man," Ned said.

But, no. Robert couldn't budge. "I've made my decision."

Ned looked sad. "Foster him yourself."

"You can't give me orders," Robert barked.

Ned turned and walked out of the tent.

Robert watched him leave. He wasn't stopping. He wasn't turning around. Some of his lords met with him and he started giving orders. Was he leaving?

Damn that man...

"Ned. Ned." Robert didn't want to but he ran out after Ned. Damn the man, damn his pride, damn his demands. Damn him for not being wrong.

"Stop, Ned."

Ned's own lords scattered as Robert came near.

"Come back in. There's no reason we can't talk this out."

"Why talk? You're not listening, Robert."

"I am the King."

Ned nodded as solemn as a funeral bell. "You are. So rule your kingdoms by yourself. If you just want to give orders, give them."

"That's not fair."

"I came to besiege a castle. If you're just going to give it back, then I've no reason to see your _great_ moment."

Robert was stumped. Why was Ned like this... They had been so close when they were younger. But Lyanna had changed them both. It had driven Robert to drink and fatness. For Ned, it had turned him stony, a man of granite who could still walk and talk. He laughed sometimes but only among Northerners. Ned...

And Robert had so wanted to become part of Ned's family – and to leave his own behind.

Today he was an insubordinate shit who spoke sense. If these were dragons rather than squids, Robert would have killed them all. No mercy...

Still, he couldn't do this to enrich Tywin Lannister. Nor that fool Tyrell. And Ned wouldn't take on the task. His kingdom was too far away.

That left one lord... The historical choice.

"You'll want to hear this, Ned. Come back in."

"I'll listen."

Ned stayed near the tent flap, but Robert went all the way back in. He turned to look at the Blackfish.

"Lord Tully, you will henceforth be Lord Paramount of the Riverlands and Iron Islands. Don't make me regret this," Robert said.

The Blackfish was stunned, but recovered quickly. "I won't."

"Be fair, but be hard if fair doesn't work. You can sit on that damned Seastone Chair if you like. I'd prefer it be lost in the sea."

Lannister, to Robert's surprise, wasn't seething at being denied something. Maybe Lannister did view these islands as a curse, as Ned had argued.

Ned said nothing, but he hadn't left again. That was something.

Robert went outside and stood in front of his forces and the broken people from Pyke Castle.

"The justice is thus: for inciting other lords and men into rebellion, House Greyjoy is attainted and its lordship stripped. For his personal leadership in this rebellion, Balon Greyjoy will be beheaded. His family, including those known to be outside Westeros, will be allowed to take the Black or have their heads taken. Even the daughter. She can be a washerwoman at Castle Black. His household will take the Black or be put to the sword. The Lord Paramount of these islands is now invested in House Tully of Riverrun. That is the cost of rebellion, if you lose."

It was what would have happened to Robert and to Ned if the dragons had won. All of that felt good to pronounce – and the cheers from the men were warming and pleasant.

Ned was right about his former ideas being inadequate. Would that he could exclude Stannis from talking. Whatever his brother wanted, Robert just picked something different. It was no excuse, just a defect of Robert's he would never mend.

"Where's my headsman? Get Balon out here..."

"I'll do it, Robert."

That was Ned.

"Best you did. It was your idea."

And Ned did it. That sword of his, Ice, had seen more necks than Robert had known whores.

"There's a tourney in Lannisport in three weeks...," Robert announced to the assembled men. "I will knight those who distinguished themselves. Lord Lannister will play host."

Not that Lord Lannister knew that until Robert said it. It would be nice to dine on someone else's gold for a time.

Robert looked around. The Tyrell was thinking of glory. The Lannister was thinking of the expenditure. The Blackfish looked like he was choking on responsibility. Ned was looking to the North, as if he were ready to climb onto a boat and give no more mind to these islands. Well, ten minutes ago he had probably given just those orders.

Robert had the sense that both Dorne and the North would be absent from the Tourney. He had the sense that Ned had put him on the spot in front of these other lords and given him a test. Robert had the sense that he'd barely passed it – and that all of his principal lords knew it.

He had gotten to the right justice in the end. It had taken him too long and he had protested for too long. For that, Ned looked like a leader and Robert looked like a boy who was petulant after spilling the milk.

Later, Ned sought out Lord Tully...and apologized. Not that Robert was there when it happened. Ned stayed far away from the royal tent until the ships were ready to leave. But Robert heard of the meeting. Ned had apologized for the impossible challenge Robert had 'gifted' to Riverrun. Ned had also warned the Blackfish to garrison men at Pyke for now rather than hand it over to a different noble family.

Ned really had meant it to go to Tywin Lannister – but why? Adding to one's lands wasn't supposed to be a punishment. Robert didn't see. And Ned wasn't saying.

Ned and his principal lords were almost the first into the boats. Ned camped in the Westerlands until he had all his men returned to him, then he set off long before the Tourney at Lannisport started.

Yes, this had been a victory, but it had been a failure for Robert in front of his lords. And Ned wouldn't even take an apology. Who knew his most prickly major lord would be the one he was closest to? Ned's expectations were just so high, so impossible.

He and Jon were going to have to talk about this, see how to bring the North back into the fold. They were so damned independent.

X-X-X

A/N: Seeing where the season the TV show is going, I have a horrible suspicion that the solution to the Others will involve Bran using his greenseeing powers to change the past. I was hoping for dragons, but they're still a long way away and on the wrong side of the sea.

At least they spent some time setting up this greenseeing deus ex machina. Still, I hope the solution is something else...

X-X-X


	4. Tests of Honor: Robert II

X-X-X

Tests of Honor: Robert II

X-X-X

When King Robert rode North slowly with his family and court and more knights than he could count, Ned Stark rode south from Winterfell. Ned and his swift riders met the King's party at the reconstructed Moat Caillin.

It was one stern-looking fortress. Looked like twelve towers, maybe more. Robert glanced at it more than once and wondered if he could get an army past it... All this swamp land and only the one good road, not an easy proposition.

Ned dismounted and walked forward. He looked the same as he had on Pyke. His hair was still dark and he probably still fit into the leather armor he'd worn that day.

Whereas Robert had needed several newer, and larger, sets of plate over the years...

Ned's party remained outside the fortress for now. Quite a few riders, a hundred or more. Different weapons. Were those crossbows? Since when did the North use crossbows?

"Preempt me, Ned? I wanted to come all the way up. It's been a long time since since I saw the North."

"Perhaps another time."

"But..."

"I sent a raven ahead and had rooms prepared here," Ned said. "Let's talk now, Robert."

"But..."

"Let's really talk."

Ned was in one of his moods. The last one of those Robert had seen ended in Balon Greyjoy losing his head.

"I should introduce everyone. It's the way it's done," Robert said.

"In the North, we waste no time. We need to talk, Robert."

The fat king, though not a jolly one, nodded. Robert thought this was not a conversation he would enjoy.

Ned looked at one of his riders. "See that the queen and her party have the comforts of Moat Caillin, Ser Rodrik."

"It shall be so," the man said.

Ned led Robert to one of the towers. The room was comfortable with a lit fire. Ned sat first at the table, as if he were king. Robert noticed that.

He was good at noticing slights. He had married a master of the art. Still he sat at the little table where there was no wine, no ale, or even bread and salt. Did he need to ask for guest rights here? It was beginning to feel like it.

"What in the seven hells, Ned?"

There was no smile on Ned's face. "I had a letter from Jon Arryn three weeks before I heard he was dead. What happened..."

"I've come all this way and you want to talk about that? Now? It's good to see you..."

"A fever? That's all I saw in your letter. A fever... Jon Arryn died of a fever – did you investigate?"

"Well, I had the Grandmaester..."

"Is it still Pycelle?"

"Yes."

"The man who urged the Mad King to let Tywin Lannister into King's Landing about fifteen years ago?"

"Yes."

Ned really was in a mood. "He is not your man, Robert. He belongs to another. Did someone you trust examine Jon?"

"Who can I trust there?" Robert asked.

"You've been king a long time. You have no one trusty there?"

"No."

"How do you expect House Baratheon to rule as a dynasty if you keep acting like a guest? You have another king's maester. Another king's spymaster. The killer of another king for a guard. You need your people in these roles, Robert."

"Jon wanted me to keep the peace..."

"Is it peace? You are king but all the people around you belong to others. I'd say you were the hostage and someone else the ruler..."

Too true, too close, too dear to say. "Now, Ned..."

"I know why you've ridden north so soon after Jon's death. He was after me to come south, stay at court for a year. Meet the lords, make connections..."

"Yes, exactly, Ned."

"I am a man of the North who almost forgot that, Robert. I am harder than the boy you knew."

"I figured that after Pyke."

"You still wish for me to come south? I will not tolerate things Jon would have. I do not find vomit funny and do not enjoy the giggles of whores..."

Robert flushed like, well, like a scolded child. "Ned, you're as blunt as ever."

"Blunt enough to tell you things you should already now. You are king, Robert."

"I know that, all the people on their knees when I walk by..."

"You are king, but you only remember part of the time."

"What do you mean?"

"You know the pomp and the privileges. You've forgotten the fight."

"I live for the fight," Robert said.

"When you've got a good notion, a change you want, do you remember you're king and things are earned the hard way."

"I know that."

"I've not heard of much happening in court."

"That's not fair."

"Afraid of the whispers in court? Your predecessor listened to whispers and grew madder still from them. You've got to have a core idea, Robert, something that can slay most of the whispers and lies that float on the wind."

"I had one. It was to be a husband to a good woman." Lyanna, Ned's younger sister.

"I know not your lady wife, Cersei..."

"She is her father's creature, but blunter and dimmer," Robert said, speaking that truth for perhaps the first time. "She is no good woman."

"Then you must settle on another idea, one you can love enough to tolerate the miseries of governing."

"I don't have anything like that..."

"Then Jon guided you poorly..."

No, not Ned, too. "I won't hear anything against Jon Arryn, Ned, not even from you."

"He was a good man, but he relished the chaos of ruling. The up and down. The tussles. He claimed they stressed him, he claimed to be wearied by them, but if you looked you could see that he loved them. He wouldn't have wanted a calm court. He would have been bored."

"Aye."

"Why else would he have wanted such boisterous children as us for his wards? He needed the chaos and the energy. He loved court. To him it was like a high and fast-rushing river."

"Perhaps he did love a ragged court."

"You and I are different people even though he tried to mold us in his image. I abhor that kind of chaos. I fight to do right for the North, for my father, brother, and sister. My children now, too. What do you fight for – and how will you do it, Robert, First of Your Name?"

Good question, damned good. Impossible to answer. "Help me."

"I won't say yes until you tell me what you fight for, Robert. We can stay here a week or more while you decide. But I will not ride south with you until you tell me what it is I must do. I will not sit and let lords gust me with their lies to no grand purpose. If I help you to govern, it must be to a point, a result."

Ned really was different. "Making demands? That's presumption... I haven't offered you high office."

"No, you haven't. If I presumed wrongly, then I will leave and return home..."

The man could always turn another's advantage into a weakness. "Please don't. You're not wrong, Ned..."

He hadn't come here to beg, but beg he must. "What can I fight for? Dorne is lost to me. The Reach is trying to have me put aside Cersei so I can marry a smiling little girl from Highgarden. The West seeks more offices, all of them, for blond, grinning monsters. There are Targaryens over the Narrow Sea plotting. But why do I care for my dynasty? I do not like my wife or my good father. I hate my heir. I miss Jon and he is barely dead. And you are like a stranger to me."

"I grew up, Robert."

Perhaps Robert had not. Perhaps that was the problem. No one ever said no to him. No one ever forced him.

Ned had grown up.

"Aye. A hard way to do it, too," Robert said. Ned lost a brother and father in one day. Then, fought for a year and still lost his sister.

"Yours was scarcely easier," Ned said. "Watching your parents die in a storm while on a ship. Then becoming King when it was never something you were trained to do. Jon did his best for us, but he did not train me to be Lord of Winterfell and he did not train you to be King of the Seven Kingdoms. Your tests in the last years played out in public where ten thousand spies could watch you. Some of them were mine, Robert."

"How did I do?"

"Honestly?"

"Yes."

"I am disappointed," Ned said.

"Please don't say that."

"You leaned on Jon too much. You did not take to the work you won for yourself. You say you hate Lannisters, but your actions are otherwise. You surround yourself more and more with them. Tywin almost destroyed King's Landing. He ordered massacres of small folk and princes and princesses."

"This again."

"It was your first failure, not your last, as King," Ned said.

"It was a mistake riding North." Robert had not come here for lectures. He had had that from Jon. He shook his head, but didn't stand and didn't walk away.

"Your overspending, your lavishness, your reliance on loans. The Iron Bank owns the Iron Throne, not you."

"We are paying them."

"Not according to my spies. You're juggling coppers, stealing from here, shoving them there. You need to be repaying in gold dragons."

"Then come be my Hand."

"I have told you the first of my terms, Robert. You must have a plan before I say yes."

Ned wasn't refusing, at least. He was negotiating. "Fine. What else? And what will it take for fewer lectures? I know my mistakes, Ned..."

"When you play the fool, you get a lecture or, if you're not listening, you get my resignation."

Robert nodded. _Go on, say it, man. What do you want?  
_

"My second term, this position as Hand is not a forever appointment as it was for Jon."

"Ned..."

"Let me be clear. I have four young children who have no other blood parent. I have a natural son. I have Caron who is finally pregnant with our child together. I wouldn't trust that open sewer of a capital to protect any one of them for long. Remember that I am the Lord of Winterfell, Robert. It is my home and I will not be apart from it for the rest of your life."

"So what are you offering?" A sad day when a king really had to beg.

"If you wish for help, I will serve as your Hand to ensure your most important task is underway. I will give you one year..."

"A year? That's no time at all."

"We've started and ended wars in less. It's nothing or one year, Robert. And you will not be hunting every day and whoring all night. If I am to be in the throne room where my father and brother were murdered, you will be there, too."

So this was the cost he was to pay. "That's not good enough, Ned. Not near."

"Decline my terms, then pick a denizen of the sewer to manage the sewer. I do not seek the honors of the south, if you could call them that."

Robert closed his eyes. Ned wasn't wrong. "I hate it. I hate almost everything about being King. I do not regret killing that silver dragon, but I regret that I won." And still lost his bride.

"Honesty between us will be good, Robert." Ned sounded hopeful for the first time.

"Don't expect anything else. It's weakness to say the truth."

"It is not. You must know the truth always, though sometimes you hold your tongue from speaking all of it. But you've been lying to yourself. Jon did you no favors by not forcing you to know and say true things, even if only into his ear."

"I can't do it on my own."

"Act like you wish to do part of it."

"Ned..."

"Otherwise, go and whore and leave the ruling to Stannis. He can handle disloyal ship's captains which is harder than a bunch of disloyal, thieving lords. Get him and listen to him."

Stannis... Sitting in the throne room with Ned to help was better than handing it over to Stannis and disappearing into a flagon and a girl's lap.

"I will name you Hand of the King, Ned."

"Then you will have one year, starting on the day you tell me your purpose, the one I am trying to help you fulfill."

"You're serious about that?" Robert asked. It had sounded like some twaddle Jon might have said. But Ned really meant it.

"Yes."

"I'll need a day. We should talk about joining the houses. I've a son and you've..."

"You've a son who you don't like. No, Robert. Robb will marry in the North, though which lass has not been decided. Sansa will marry a Manderly, a knight. Arya and Bran are too young."

No marriage, nothing? And only a few turns of the moon. "A year? That's all..."

"On hearing you were riding North, I contacted Jeor Mormont at Castle Black. I have a dispensation for my brother, Benjen, to serve at Winterfell for a year, no more, while not violating his oaths. It will cost me a considerable amount in gold and supplies to the Night's Watch."

"I can pay that."

" _I_ made the agreement so I'll pay it. I thought the price acceptable so that my children, all of them, could see the south and its capitol."

So Ned was serious. "When will they come?"

"I will ride south as soon as you finish our agreement..."

"But we were heading to Winterfell..."

"There is no time to waste, Robert. I give you one year and not a day longer..."

"Yes, I suppose. Are you bringing your bastard, the Snow boy?"

"He is now Ser Jon Whitewolf..."

"A knight at fourteen, a bit young..."

"He might not be able to cut the Kingslayer's head off yet, but he would come close."

And Robert believed Ned.

"Is he coming?" Robert asked again.

"He will serve as Master-at-Arms in Winterfell for Benjen."

A clever solution. Get the boy knighted. And which of his knightly lords would turn down Ned Stark? Most of his bannermen loved the Starks. "Whitewolf, where did that name come from?"

"Let me show you." Ned stood and opened the door to the room. He whistled and some massive beast, far larger than a horse, loped inside. It was a fucking direwolf.

"Somehow she got into the castle, into the kennels, and whelped. You'd think someone would have seen her come south of the Wall, but no. The Old Gods hid her from everyone's eye."

Ned talking about the gods, any gods?

"Each of my children has one of her pups and she seems to fancy me. I'd be careful of touching her, though."

"A great beast like that. I'll keep my hand on my arm, thank you. Is she trained?"

For once, Ned grinned. "I dare say she's smarter than some of the men I know. I call her Honor and she responds to it." He looked at the beast. "Honor, sit."

And the damned thing did. She took up more space than a table. Ned might just have trouble cramming all his family and their wolves into the Tower of the Hand.

"To your question about Ser Jon."

"Yes."

"Jon has one of her pups, an albino. Hence, Ser Jon Whitewolf."

And that would be one fearsome knight in short order.

"I will bring my own men south, as protection. It's rare enough that almost all the Starks come south," Ned said.

"Fine, fine. How many?" Robert asked.

"You wouldn't believe me."

"A hundred? Two hundred? Can you afford more?"

"It's more. Though if things go well, you may never see them."

Never see them? "Explain that."

Ned smiled.

Robert mulled the question. Perhaps Ned meant he would send men who didn't wear his sigil... Any number of them could blend into a city as large as King's Landing. There were always armed men or men who looked dangerous enough to be armed passing through. "You got clever, Ned."

"I did, too late, perhaps. I wish Father had trained me himself, but I've picked up enough since."

"You regret your time in the Vale?" Robert asked.

"I wouldn't be who I am without Jon. I just wish I had had more time with my father."

Robert knew that regret well.

"Several children I am fostering may come south, depending upon how much energy Benjen has left."

"Who are you fostering?"

"Lord Bolton who died after Pyke fell, his son. A few others."

"Fine."

"I will hold you to your commitments, Robert. Be sure of that. If we conclude this deal, I will be as stern with you as with law-breakers and enemies of the Crown."

Robert had the sense Ned would be less forgiving than Jon. Good. Perhaps it was time.

"Then we're not holding Court every day. A man has to hunt." And chase wenches and drink and everything else, all the good things of being King.

"Then put it into the schedule. And I will probably dispatch most of your Small Council..."

"I've no love for them. We'll need a place for Renly, though."

"Only if he's qualified and willing to do the job."

"You're hard with every member of my family."

"I remember you once giving an impossible task to Brynden Tully. He's had no end of trouble with those damned islands..."

"You're right, Ned. I should have stuck Tywin with the gift that keeps cutting. Perhaps we can help him?"

"I sent the Blackfish some men and he got some boats off Lord Mallister of Seaguard. I dare say he's cleared up some of his problem by now. But I will not have you make me a gift of a problem. If Renly is suited, fine. If he is not, he's gone."

Ned acting like Hand even before he was. "Fine."

"And I plan to make use of Stannis."

Of all the people who Ned might appreciate. "Damn you, Ned."

"It's part of the bargain. You're in dire need of an honest man to count your coppers."

X-X-X

Holding court with Ned, and that beast Honor, at his side was an experience. Perhaps this was what court was like when Targaryens still had dragons. Huge, terrifying dragons. Lords stammered. Small folk who came forward almost pissed themselves.

The Kingsguard were very nervous around the direwolf. None of them had said it, but they knew there was nothing they could do to a beast that size. Its fur and skin was probably thick enough armor to keep a sword from piercing. At most they might blind it – and that was no easy task. He had heard that someone had commissioned bear traps to be built. Honor was probably smart enough to avoid them, Robert thought. Robert wondered if an oversized crossbow, one held by two men, would work. A fixed weapon like a scorpion would be little use against a beast as fast as she. It was all idle consideration as she listened to Ned as much as any wild animal had ever listened to a man.

Best of all, though. Cersei and her blond children were scarce when Ned and Honor were around. Cersei recognized another bitch and saw that she was the inferior. Honor was more attentive and respectful, certainly better trained.

It was six weeks since Ned had arrived at King's Landing. Four weeks since Robert had returned with his far slower entourage. The place felt different already. Cleaner.

Part of that was Ned. Ned had told Robert he would clean out the Small Council. Robert thought that meant sending them home.

Not so. Some had been discharged and left for their castles, like Renly. Others now resided in the Black Cells, like Pycelle, Varys, and Littlefinger, all there on serious charges like murder and treason.

The goldcloaks were similarly gutted, mostly for corruption, bribe-taking, and extortion. When Robert heard Ned present the evidence, he didn't object. It was clear enough, though Ned was having trials for all of them prepared.

Perhaps Ned had come south just so he could send a bunch of southerners to the Wall. It wouldn't surprise Robert much. Ned was a far more canny person these days, with plots within his plots.

Robert forced himself to pay attention to the day's proceedings. Today had turned into a day when lords from the Crownlands and Stormlands came to complain. A storm had destroyed the crops on three farms. This one's taxes were too high. This other lord had arrested someone for poaching, when the man was just hunting on lands he had permission to hunt upon. Disputes over maps, disputes over rivers, disputes of criminals fleeing from one village to another.

All things more petty than ant hills.

Robert had had enough of it. Maybe Honor ate people, like whiny lords?

Just as Robert was going to call the hour so he could fill his belly, the herald at the door cried out, "Caron Stark, Lady of Winterfell, Lord Stark's sons Robert and Brandon, Lord Stark's daughters Sansa and Arya. Domeric Bolton, Altyn Flint, Larrence Wull, and Willem Branch, wards to House Stark. The direwolves of House Stark."

The room seemed to shiver at that last bit.

Robert looked to the wolves first. That smallest boy wearing a direwolf on his clothes had a wolf large enough for him to ride. In just a few years each of them might be as big or larger than Ned's Honor.

"If I might, your Grace," Ned said.

"Please introduce your family to me."

Ned stepped forward to clasp each member of his family in his arms, including his wards. Ned could be affectionate, just with other Northerners.

"King Robert, this is my wife Caron, her mother was a Royce from the Vale and her father a Wells of the North."

"Welcome, Caron Stark. Keep a tight leash on Ned. He's been keeping a ferocious one on me."

The court laughed not knowing how true it was.

"This is my heir, Robb, named for someone we both know."

"It's a good name, Robert is," King Robert said.

He earned another laugh.

"My son Brandon, my daughters Sansa and Arya..." He filled in everyone else in the party and even gave the names of the wolves.

"Did your household guard come with?" Robert asked. He hadn't seen many men wearing direwolves since Ned arrived.

"Yes."

And that was all Ned said about that in open court.

Robert adjourned the court and invited all of Ned's extended family to sup with him. Ned was just as close mouthed about his men-at-arms in King's Landing in private. Not even the children would speak of it.

If only Robert could get Joffrey to keep his tongue still. The boy was a lackwit when it came to discretion and not insulting people. His mother's snobbery, undoubtedly. He was still calling Northmen barbarians or some such when he was well away from Ned and Honor. But rumors floated in the Red Keep.

Ned kept his temper at least.

Though it wouldn't be long before more lords, from more distant regions, descended to test the new Hand, see how he would manage Robert. Robert hadn't said that Ned's appointment was temporary. People at court took it to be an ongoing thing – and were rather afraid of a Stark as stony as Ned was

Jon had been tractable, honorable. He hadn't taken bribes, but had shown some flexibility to people who could stutter out a sad story.

Ned was firmer than that, by far.

Court resumed after lunch. At least there was no court for the next three days. It was on the schedule. Robert was going hunting and Ned and Honor were joining in, perhaps his sons, too. Though the little one was a bit little for a three-day hunt.

After luncheon it was the same boredom as the morning session until the herald at the door announced that the High Septon had arrived. This was different.

Grasping sorts, these political septons. Robert had known a few pious ones. But they kept out of King's Landing.

This specimen was the one who stepped on every other septon to become the chief holy man. Robert suspected every bit of hair on the man's head had ambitions, his tears had ambitions. He was trouble and the High Septon knew that Robert knew it. So why had he come?

"Your Grace." The Septon bowed to Robert, then nodded to Ned. He pretended not to see Honor, though Robert noticed that Honor was awake and looking at the Septon. Dreaming of second lunch? This holy man would make a substantial repast, fatty and full of bile.

"Rise, High Septon. What is the news from the Great Sept?" Robert asked.

"The news I am concerned with, your Grace, comes from Dragonstone."

What would Stannis be doing that would interest the Seven?

"Well, is Stannis here?" Robert asked Ned.

"He's on a ship to Dragonstone," Ned said.

Of course. "Let's hear it, then." Robert nodded at the High Septon.

"Based on concerned reports from the septons on Dragonstone, I must request royal action against the King's good-sister Selyse Baratheon, wife of your brother Stannis..."

Oh. Another of Robert's mistakes. He'd basically bullied Stannis into marrying into the Reach. Would that he hadn't picked someone so horrible.

"What has my good-sister done?" Robert asked, dreading the answer.

"The reports say she has converted to the Lord of Light and now keeps a Red Priestess in her company."

The Others take that foolish woman. Lord of Light... That was Essosi muck. And Selyse Florent had a head filled with straw.

What would Jon have done? He would have gotten the High Septon out of the room and began negotiations in private.

What would Ned counsel? He had a hatred for backroom chats. If a thing needed said, and especially an embarrassing one, he said it in front of the people who needed to know. Robert still remembered that awful 'debate' at Pyke. Ned had been right, but it taken Robert quite some time to admit it. Getting slapped around in front of his lords hurt, but Balon Greyjoy was a schemer and had needed to die.

So Ned would get this into the open... And so Robert would.

"Why are you concerned, High Septon? Be specific," Robert said.

"To have such a person so close to one of your heirs... Your brother Stannis is third in line to your throne, a throne bestowed upon you by the Seven. Now, of course, we recognize the rights of those who worship the Old Gods," and the High Septon glanced toward Ned, but mostly toward Honor, "but this Lord of Light has never had a place on our shores."

Robert was right: the High Septon was a troublemaker. These septons were always looking to establish footholds and regain their power. They had thought to tempt Ned to their cause, maybe. The followers of the Old Gods and those who followed the Seven rarely had reason to cooperate, but against a common foe?

Robert extended his hand and waved the High Septon back. He considered his options. Then he looked to Ned.

Ned stepped forward. "From my reading of the laws, there is no requirement that any member of the royal family worship in a particular way..."

"But...," the fat septon sputtered.

"If anything, this is a matter for King Robert to sort out among his kinsmen and -women. Thank you for bringing it to our attention. I am sure the King will wish to investigate as the head of House Baratheon."

Robert smiled. Yes, he was the head of the family. This wasn't a matter for court. This was a matter for family. Ned had handled that just so.

And in a way so that the High Septon couldn't disagree. He had come to start a fire and got only kind thanks. He'd hoped for Ned's concurrence at warring with the Lord of Light or, perhaps, denunciation for meddling in royal business. What had happened was a pleasant, calm dismissal.

Yes, Ned read this grasping fool just right.

"Anyone else?" Robert called out. "Then this session of court is ended. We will meet again in four days, perhaps I will have good stories of boar-hunting to share."

Robert rose. Everyone else kneeled and Robert left with Ned and Honor behind. Robert beckoned Ned to follow, though the man was clearly interested in the Hand of the Tower where his family was.

"Is this craziness why Stannis went to Dragonstone?" Robert asked.

"He didn't say. But he does travel there often."

"Well, get a raven off to him. One crazy woman is all this family needs. I can't put away Cersei, but I can put away that shrill woman Stannis married if need be..."

"I'll see it done."

"And it's good your family came," Robert said.

"I may excuse myself from the hunt, with your permission. I did not expect them today. They made far better time than I would have thought..."

Robert frowned. "Fine, fine."

"We didn't make much progress today. But we will."

"I know you're focused on it."

"I wouldn't say yes until you told me what you wanted. _Start healing the Kingdoms_ , you said."

Robert remembered. "When I die, I'm not starting a civil war. Bad enough how the Targaryens went. Crazy and wretched. And I won't have my brother's wife cause a religious war. Your folk with the trees, these Seven just itching to arm the Faithful, then these others with their flaming swords and whatever else they do. That would be three sides and many dead... You get Stannis back here with that crazy woman. I don't want the priestess anywhere near King's Landing, though."

"I wouldn't have thought you would."

"You made an enemy of the High Septon," Robert said.

"And his ancestors cut down and burned most of the weirwoods south of the Neck a thousand years ago. It's an old enmity. I was happy to renew it."

"Aye. And none of us forget a slight ever. No wonder nothing ever gets fixed."

X-X-X

How Ned stood at attention just to the side of the Iron Throne every court day, not wavering a bit, Robert didn't know. Today, at least, was something of interest. A delegation from the Vale had arrived in King's Landing three days earlier and settled on this day with Ned to present their case for Robert's decision.

They needed a new Lord Paramount.

House Arryn was down to very distant cousins ill prepared to hold the Vale. Robert wasn't pleased that Jon's house had fallen on such hard times, but Robert and these lords needed someone to hold that kingdom together. Bunch of proud ones there along with some fools, Robert remembered those latter ones well. Good for drinking with, not so good for ruling. The Vale was not an easy land at all.

He supposed these lords, some of whose names he didn't remember, all wished to put themselves forward. Graspers...

The greetings took some time, but Ned knew well many of the lords. Robert should have remembered more than he did. He had been busier as a lad with the lasses and not the lords of Jon Arryn's kingdom.

Robert listened to the different camps. A few argued for House Arryn to continue, though under the leadership of one or another of Jon's distant cousins. Which meant that it really wasn't House Arryn at all, to Robert's thinking.

The other lords tumbled over each other's words to nominate others. The Graftons of Gulltown, the side branch Arryns of Gulltown (which had long separated from the main branch), the House of Royce (though not nominated by Lord Royce himself), and on and on.

Ned seemed to be following the arguments, but Robert was lost and bored. Maybe he should get a golden dragon and throw it into the air. Whoever caught it got to select the next Lord Paramount. Because this argument was about as sensical.

Robert became aware something was happening near the back of the throne room. Damn thing was so deep, the whole thing was dark, and his eyes weren't what they used to be. None of him was.

"What is the seven hells is that noise?" Robert asked, rising from the Iron Throne.

Several men who looked like beggars ran into the throne room and began closing the doors. Others drew swords to fight these new arrivals.

"They're my men," Ned roared.

Ned's hidden force looked like beggars?

"Help them with the doors. They know what's going on," Ned shouted as he ran across the room. Honor beat him there. No one dared to cross the beast.

"What, what is it, Ned?" Robert called out.

"Some of the goldcloaks we couldn't catch are rioting, trying to mount their own takeover of the Red Keep..."

"Goldcloaks! Men Jon put into office..."

"Or other members of the Small Council," Ned shouted back.

Robert sat.

Ser Barristan urged Robert to leave.

"Leave? I'll do better than that. Get me my hammer. I'll give these shits a warm welcome to the throne room, warm and bloody."

"Your Grace..."

Robert waved him off. "Ned's got it."

"I'd still rather you were out of here."

"The way the Red Keep, even Maegor's Holdfast, fell in the Sack, you sure it's safer somewhere else?" Robert asked. "Tunnels everywhere to those who know them. Men for hire everywhere in the city or even here. Look at the all City Watch..."

Ser Barristan opened his mouth, but couldn't say anything.

"The Kingsguard will keep my wife and children safe."

"Aye, your Grace."

The yelling had turned to screams outside. Something had changed, something was happening. Robert sat on his throne, but he wanted to be there at that door, not in the rear nearest to safety.

Robert noticed that Honor was interested in the noises but not concerned. Ned was listening and holding back those in the throne room from opening the doors and running out to do battle.

It was quiet finally.

Three short raps on the doors had Ned whispering through the door. Well, maybe he was speaking at a normal tone, but it wasn't loud enough for Robert to hear. Blast Ned's hide.

"Ned, Ned, tell us what's happening," Robert shouted.

"The uprising is put down. The goldcloaks had hired sellswords to help them."

"Traitors."

"Aye. They didn't like the trials we held last turn for Slynt and the others, wanted to tell us with their swords."

"Why are we cowering in here?" Robert demanded.

"We are giving my men time to handle these traitors. I knew we'd missed some of these dirty scoundrels in the round-up. We've been hunting them. Funny that they decided to return all on their own and save us the trouble, your Grace."

Not much of a joke. Grim Ned looked even grimmer just now.

"I'm going to open these doors and speak with my men."

Ser Barristan stepped forward, whether to help or hinder, Robert didn't know.

"Hold, Ser Barristan. Ned's earned my trust," Robert said.

Ned and several of his men in the room unbarred the door and pulled them open. A great giant of a man walked inside and nodded at Honor before speaking to Ned. Couldn't be other than a Northman, or a third Clegane brother.

"Who is that?" Robert called out.

"Nalsan Wull, one of my captains."

Robert looked at the man. He wore no sigil and certainly no direwolf. He looked like he hawked bowls of brown in Flea Bottom. Clever. Ned hadn't had his men stuffed into the Red Keep. He'd had them in the city monitoring things with no special uniform. Just a trusty group of men.

"How many goldcloaks, Ned? And what are the damages?"

Ned finally looked irritated with all the shouted questions.

He started across the throne room again with Honor at his side, dwarfing him.

His man Wull was gone already.

"Ned. Ned?"

"One moment, your Grace." Ned arrived before the Iron Throne. Ser Barristan edged himself over to listen. "The uprising, such as it was, is over. Several of those who remained goldcloaks, the ones who did not take bribes, were hurt or killed by these traitors. The leaders of this uprising intended to ransom you or your family if they could manage it. My men have killed some, but mostly wounded them and took them prisoner. We will be able to find out more about this group, their leaders, and the source of their funding. They were well armed with castle-forged steel."

"Gods, Ned."

"How many?" Ser Barristan asked.

"Right now, it seems thirty former goldcloaks plus two hundred or more others they recruited to their cause."

So many? The City Watch was a big force, needed to be for a city the size of King's Landing, but so many of them rotten, not just the officers but the men, too? Thirty former City Watchmen plus sellswords?

How had Jon not noticed for years? How had Robert not noticed it himself? Ned had, clear enough. He'd scooped up the officers and leading men though the dregs had escaped...

Ned turned from Robert and addressed the lords from the Vale and gave them an apology. They would need to postpone the conversation for the next day. Robert was not surprised to hear no objections. There were a lot of people who didn't want to transact their affairs in the Red Keep just now.

The court cleared after the Vale lords left. They all feared more fighting outside the doors... Robert didn't. Ned was thorough.

"How many men did you sneak into King's Landing?" Robert asked.

"Enough to keep all of my family safe. I brought enough."

"Thank you, Ned. How many did you lose?"

"None dead, a few wounded. We don't fight fair. We have crossbows..."

"You're making enemies everywhere."

"You think I'd ride south into a place I knew was trouble without some force at my hand? No."

"No," Robert agreed.

It had turned out to be anything but an ordinary day at court, but Ned had been forced to give up some of his secrets. How many more surprises did Ned have? How many more bits and bob did he have in reserve?

Robert would probably never know.

Robert spent the afternoon and much of the evening listening to the men who had tried to attack him and ransom him. The sound of the torture was justice to his ears.

Robert didn't see Ned down in the cells. Well, he never did appreciate this part of a battle.

He supposed he'd need to settle on the Vale tomorrow if Ned could coax some nervous lords back into the throne room. What would Ned say?

There was one late casualty. It was only as he was heading to bed that Robert heard that Ned's lady wife, Caron Stark, had gone into labor, but lost their little girl. So even Ned's victory had a cost. The noises of the skirmishing must have reached the Tower of the Hand.

King's Landing had killed another child.

Always another.

X-X-X

Robert was unhappy and unsettled on Ned's final day as Hand, the final day of the twelve promised turns of the moon. His children and much of his household had left a turn earlier and were already in the North. Ned had come south like he was leading some military campaign. Protect the flank, always!

This wasn't a battleground, though Ned didn't seem to know it.

Robert had even held off on announcing Ned's departure, another of Ned's very firm requests.

Ned stepped forward after all the court fussiness was done. "Your Grace, a matter for your interest."

It was good to hear his voice on this last day. For as large as he loomed in this throne room, his voice was rarely heard in it. He stood and took everything in and had a scribe or two to keep Robert's decisions straight. Of course, he gave much advice at their private dinners and at sessions of the Small Council. But Robert's was the voice of this throne room now, whereas Jon's had been in the past.

Robert hadn't resented it when he realized Ned was trying to train him to be the King. Jon had just done all the work and hadn't minded when Robert went off hunting. Ned had kept to his word and forced Robert to sit on this damned throne and be the king.

"Well, speak up, Ned."

Much of what Ned brought up was interesting.

Yes, that was true. It had been an interesting year.

Ned had had three former members of the Small Council executed, two of them for their involvement in killing Jon Arryn and a third for supporting the remaining Targaryens-in-exile. He'd completely washed the goldcloaks and swatted down an uprising of the corrupt, unimprisoned survivors. He'd caught out the High Septon for his patronage of very young girls in a brothel. That man was still in the Black Cells awaiting his trial.

Ned had parried with the new Grand Maester after Ned had had the last one executed. Robert couldn't count the number of lords who'd come to court and lied about some matter or other. Ned caught out most of them, too. He grumbled about the ones he suspected to have lied but was unable to humble...

Mace Tyrell, for one, had fled the throne room after hearing Ned's response to one of his blundering speeches. Robert thought it was unlikely Mace would ever return to King's Landing, at least during Robert's lifetime.

How did Ned know who was lying? Know their secrets? Robert still didn't know. His men, most of whom still didn't wear sigils, must be paying strict attention to every flavor of gossip.

Though never let it be said that Ned didn't take care of the realm's work. He had a good nose for troublemakers. He'd been right about Balon Greyjoy. He was right about the sewer-city, too, and all the lordly beggars come to tell their tales. Ned could smell them.

Ned cleared his throat. Had he said something? "I missed that," Robert said.

"Your Grace, we have the accounting of the last twelve turns," Ned said again.

Tedious. Too bad he'd heard it this time around. "How bad is it?"

Ned beckoned Stannis forward. He'd spent the year as Master of Coin, when he wasn't sailing back and forth to Dragonstone and his crazy wife. At least the Red Priestess was gone, though Robert didn't know where.

"Your Grace, we have reduced our debts by six hundred thousand golden dragons in the past year," Stannis said.

"Reduced... Ned, how did you manage that?"

Right, Jon's Master of Coin had been stealing, hadn't he? But that fixed a small problem. Six hundred thousand golden dragons?

"I would say that Stannis and his men in the Treasury deserve much of the credit. For my part, I reviewed and changed some of the men appointed to collect customs and taxes."

"Better men to hunt down the cheats?" And men who would steal a little bit less?

Ned nodded, then indicated for Stannis to finish the report. Robert heard a little of interest. But his heart wasn't in coppers.

The debt was still staggering. Robert heard that some golden goblets and silver chamber pots were now coins. Good use for that, then.

The next year would be better, Stannis reported. Robert sat up and listened to this part. For only a turn of the moon ago Stannis had discovered that Tywin Lannister's vastly reduced tax rate was in error. And had been for some time. While it was now at par with the other Kingdoms, there were efforts underway for him to make good on this 'error' in the past.

The old thief... Was that a sop Jon had thrown him or was it something he'd had put in place when he had served Aerys as Hand of the King? That'd be decades and decades of reduced taxes. The richest of the kingdoms paying less than Dorne and just a bit more than the formerly independent Iron Islands... No wonder the Crown was in debt and the Lions of Casterly Rock dined on golden plates.

"Feel free to bleed my good-father in the negotiations, Stannis."

Robert's brother nodded stiffly then fled the throne room. Their relationship was better but far from good.

Ned had tried, he really had. But Robert knew he was stubborn. And Stannis was a proud one. Family history wasn't always something one could forget.

Ned wouldn't be here to settle things.

Robert's mind kept circling around to that. He'd miss Ned and that damned beast of his. With Ned here, sitting in court wasn't as horrible as Robert remembered.

And Stannis was to take over for Ned. Then he and Robert would be little better than children again, forced to rule seven kingdoms together while bickering and rerunning all their old feuds.

Robert had hinted that Ned should stay longer. Almost ordered it. But Ned had said they made a bargain. He needed to return North because his brother Benjen had to return to the Wall, then Ned needed to spend more time training all of his children in their future duties. Robb and Ser Jon were finally old enough.

"Your Grace," Ned interrupted. "Isn't that..."

He was pointing at the door.

The herald at the door announced Prince Oberyn Martell of Dorne and his retainers. No notice? No warning?

"They picked this day to saunter in and play games," Robert said.

"Your Grace...," Ned whispered with a bit of steel.

Robert was thinking of greeting these treacherous creatures and adjourning for the day. Maybe until the Dornish left King's Landing.

"I've not patience for that one or his brother. And I certainly won't be dining with him. He'll bore quickly. You closed many of the more perverse brothels."

Robert smiled. King's Landing could bore the Dornish into leaving.

Ned stepped back from Robert while Oberyn Martell did a rather truncated, almost rude bow and introduced his party. Seven named Sand and a few of the other noble families.

He had come to pick a fight. He'd also waited almost a year into Ned's term before arriving. Slow and cautious as always, probably at Prince Doran's urging. That man took three days to decide whether he would eat soup for dinner.

Too bad they'd waited too long to test the 'new' Hand. Ned was about to be the old one. And Stannis put up with the Dornish about as well as he put up with anyone else.

Prince Oberyn and his party slunk off to one side of the room. They had no immediate cause to present. They were just here to cause problems. And no Ned to hammer them back down again.

"One final matter, your Grace," Ned said, very formally.

This is what Robert had dreaded. "Go ahead, Lord Stark."

"As you are aware, but the court is not, today is my last day serving as your Hand. It has been a great honor, but I must return to my kingdom in the North and my children."

Ned handed over his tokens of office. He'd already cleared out of the Tower of the Hand, leaving its original furnishings intact. He'd brought very little with him – and what had come south had already gone north with his family.

"Thank you for your service, Lord Stark. You have done the Seven Kingdoms a great boon – and you've earned my deepest thanks."

Ned bowed and left the room. Honor had been close by. The room seemed to breathe better with the direwolf gone for good.

"Stannis Baratheon, Lord of Dragonstone, come forward."

Robert's brother emerged from a side chamber. He looked even more severe than Ned had. Why were all the good people so serious?

"Lord Baratheon, I would name you as Hand of the King," Robert said. It had taken Ned a year to make this happen.

"I accept, your Grace."

Robert handed over the tokens while a stunned crowd looked on. Ned really had managed to keep this secret. Stannis, too, to be fair.

Stannis then announced that court would adjourn for three days. The Dornish looked peeved.

Robert left with no undue speed, but he wished to catch Ned before he made off onto the road. It was already midday and he was leaving, refusing to wait for the morning, not to have a leaving feast or celebration. Such a stern one always.

Robert found Ned loading the last of his possessions onto his horse. He could have fit a saddle on Honor, but Robert supposed he got fewer looks by riding a horse.

"I heard Tywin Lannister will be coming to court in the next few weeks, for negotiations on the tax issue and the debt he's owed," Ned said.

"A murderer and a thief and he's the grandfather of the next King," Robert said. "And I will have to host him to dinner every night or face my wife's shrieks."

"I've said it before, Robert, but you could send Joffrey to the Wall. He's as crazy now as Aerys Targaryen was at age forty. The heir to the Seven Kingdoms is getting an early start on madness. He even picks on your daughter and younger son."

"I'd beat him if he laid a finger on little Steffon," Robert said. Ned had basically forced Robert to start sleeping with Cersei again. She'd finally made good and given Robert a black-haired boy.

"So you'll do nothing?" Ned asked. He was singularly focused.

"Not now, not while Cersei has her father on his way."

"Robert, are you happy with your dynasty?" Ned asked.

"With Joff, no. With Tommen, he's too damned timid. Maybe he's just stupid. With the last, he's too damned young. If I died young, I suppose I'd need a regent. You would be my preference. Stannis otherwise."

And it hurt to say that.

"If that is what you want...," Ned said.

"It is. So damned serious. You're leaving and this is your last topic. You're making me feel my years, Ned. Why are you black of hair and I'm going gray?" And fat...

"Cold river baths."

"The Others take your river baths. How your balls haven't dropped off, I don't know."

Ned smiled at least. "Keep working on peace, your Grace. Perhaps after the next winter, when Robb is older, I could assist down here, if you needed me..."

"I will always need your support, Ned."

"To peace, then."

"Ride safely," Robert said.

And that was it. Ned rode off. Robert watched a while. He took many riders with him in Stark livery – and many more men who looked like sellswords, but with a Northern look. There, there was a young man, barely more than a boy with a massive white dog. No, a white wolf. Was that Ser Jon Whitewolf come to protect his father?

Robert walked the hallways a little after. Ned had been asking him a question over the last year, if he was satisfied with his dynasty. And Robert wasn't. But, for peace...

There was something in that question of Ned's. Robert had failed this test of Ned's, he realized too late.

But what did that question matter, Robert wondered.

He was not looking forward to Tywin's visit. Robert felt like the Lannisters were closing in again. Tywin had been waiting out Ned, and gotten his wish. With any luck, Stannis would skin the man poor. But Robert expected his good-father to do well at the bargaining table. He always seemed to.

X-X-X

Robert lay dying in his bed. A boar had gored him on the last hunt. The last hunt, ever. A stupid way to die.

Robert the Spear Hunter.

Robert the Drunk.

Robert the Useless.

How would he be remembered?

Stannis was at Robert's side.

But his mind was on the North. It had been only six turns since Ned rode off. "You'll need help, Stannis, but Ned's got a new child. I doubt he'd come south now, but ravens are fast. He'll help with advice. And if that Tywin has designs on the throne before Steffon is old enough..."

Stannis had finally told Robert something that he and Jon Arryn had talked about. His oldest three children, his blond children, weren't his children at all. Cersei's bastards... which was amusing in a horrible fashion given how she shrieked about Robert's bastards.

Ned knew. Ned had asked, more than once, if Robert liked his heir, liked his dynasty. He had known about Joffrey and Tommen and the girl – but he had asked if Robert wanted to know.

Until today, the answer had been no. So foolish.

But Ned had respected Robert's choices. Stannis hadn't, not when the situation was this dire.

"I name Steffon as my heir, Stannis. Ned asked if I wanted Joffrey sent to the Wall. I should have said yes, then. I wish it now."

"And Tommen?"

"Let the maesters take him. I'd fear him in the hands of the septons. He's simple and biddable."

"Steffon is very young," Stannis said.

Young? He wasn't yet trained how not to shit himself. "You're the Protector and Regent, Stannis. You have men in the city to ensure your safety?"

"I paid attention to Lord Stark's lessons."

"Well, at least one of us did." He had always meant to... But things got in the way. Hunting...and the other things.

"I have a considerable force. I know where the Lannisters will be tonight, their liveried men. I can have many of them drugged and made harmless for a time."

"Get Ned to help, if you can. And get that bitch Cersei out of here. I won't have her here screwing up another child. She's ignored this one for the most part, bodes well for him. I'd divorce her if it didn't mean trouble for Steffon's legitimacy."

"Back to Casterly Rock with her?"

"No, put her on Dragonstone with her bastards, but get Joffrey to the Wall and make sure he swears the vow. I'll sign an order. And if a Lannister force come for her, chop off her head."

There were countless other decisions and documents to dictate and sign. Robert wouldn't die until he had settled this. But he knew he had failed. He hadn't left peace. He had just left confusion and a king who hadn't seen his second name day. Stannis was going to have a rough time of it. If the Lannisters came here in force...

Robert had failed. Ned had been perfectly willing and able to settle the succession as Robert wished. He'd offered many times. He came with enough men to do whatever Robert had wished.

Now it was all in a rush. The scribes were dropping their quills and everyone was yelling.

Robert had failed. There wouldn't be peace. There would be war.

X-X-X

A/N: And that's where I leave this version of Ned. More stories to come in the collection on different ideas, though.

X-X-X


	5. Queen Cersei the Patient I

X-X-X

Queen Cersei the Patient

Chapter One

X-X-X

A/N: What if Cersei was able to think through the consequences of her actions? Less selfish, less impulsive, more concerned with the long game.

It's amusing to see her on the TV show continually injuring herself when she attacks her various enemies. ( _Let's see, why don't I give power to this High Sparrow_ _fellow, he seems humble, and...oops, I wind up in a cell on charges._ )

But I got a little tired of how stupid she was. She became Queen, she won the grand prize – let's see her act smart for a change.

X-X-X

Queen Cersei doted on her four little black-haired children sitting on their four little chairs. Steffon, Cassana, Lyonel, and Raymont were growing well. Steffon and Cassana were old enough to learn their letters, and were better children than she or her twin brother had ever been – even raised in a cesspit known as King's Landing where Robert Baratheon was resident but hardly acted as the king.

"Where is Daddy?" her oldest boy asked, after looking up from the toy he had in his hand.

Steffon, who had seen eight name days, had noticed Robert's laziness. So young and bright already. He was the oldest, but she expected they would all notice.

"He's the King, sweetling. He's busy." She handed a doll to Cassana and helped Lyonel with the puzzle he was working.

"I thought Uncle Jon" – Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King – "was King."

Cersei grinned at him, one that made Steffon and the others smile. Her boy wasn't wrong. Jon acted as King, while Robert had the title. "No, no. Your father is King, Steffon."

"But he never sits on the Iron Throne. He never listens to pet... petitions."

Cersei hummed rather than answered.

"Mother?" he asked again.

Persistent, good. "Your father is King. Some day you will be King," Cersei said.

"Then I _will_ sit on the throne," the Heir to the Iron Throne said.

"As you wish," Cersei said, glad she had cultivated another bright spot in the child, another desire that was opposite of Robert's.

She spent another hour with them. Cassana was reading a book the scribes had made for children. Lyonel and Raymont had played together for a while before they disagreed, now they were playing separately. Steffon was trying to figure out a cyvasse board that had recently become popular in Essos. Cersei didn't quite understand the rules yet, but one of Steffon's tutors did.

Her children were quite interesting now that they could all talk and make sense.

"Behave for the septa during your walk of the gardens," she said. "I will see you after, at the meal. Listen to the stories she tells you. I may wish to hear some of them myself."

She did not love this septa and she wasn't a good teacher of the Seven-Pointed Star. But Cersei had accepted this appointment as a favor to the High Septon. Her children did need religious education.

The septa wasn't doing well to ensure they cottoned onto it.

Cersei allowed Ser Arys of the Kingsguard to lead her through the hallways as she moved with languid step to the Painting Chamber. It had wide and low openings which gave this room a view of the Blackwater.

Her ladies-in-waiting were already present. Ser Arys remained outside.

Cersei smiled at her circle of ladies and sat in her chair. She cast an eye over the painting she'd begun in her last session here. It was the Blackwater, not the most picturesque view, but it was among the better ones available from King's Landing. Her painting...she never could get things just as she wanted them. This was good for her humility and also an amusement to pass the time and ease the gossip.

"What news of Golden Tooth, Lady Lefford?" Cersei asked as she picked up her brush. Her paints had already been mixed by others.

While she attempted to paint little ships onto the board, Cersei listened to a thorough recitation of the gossip of the Westerlands, though little of Casterly Rock.

Her ladies were an odd collection that she had cultivated with some effort. Only two were from her father's lands, but both were sensible, Lady Foote moreso than Lady Lefford.

Then she had a lady from the Vale, a pretty Waynwood girl who happened to be a great-niece of the Hand of the King. She had two from the Reach, though not Tyrells or Hightowers. He had a girl from Dorne, though not one related to its ruling family. She was trying to get someone from the Riverlands or the North. The North especially, given Robert's fondness for Eddard Stark.

Cersei crooked her head and examined her painting. It still wasn't coming out as she wished. She put her brush down and listened to the conversation. Lady Bulwer was beginning her recitation of Reach news.

In the nine years since she had become queen, Cersei had worked on this project, selecting unwed ladies and protecting them. When they were to be wed, Cersei bid them fond farewells. She had no interest in having their husbands in her constellation. Husbands of ladies-in-waiting seemed to only manufacture gossip for the court. _Is the Queen favoring this one or that one?_ She had a husband and he was trouble enough.

In fact, when prospective ladies-in-waiting arrived at court, Cersei arranged to put them in front of Robert at an early occasion. The ones who succumbed to his charms and found a place in his bed, or on his chair, or on a bit of cold stone floor, or against a wall, they returned home post haste.

The ladies Cersei kept around were made of tougher stuff.

She thought of who she might ask to meet from the North. The Starks were cut back to the main branch, no weedy grouping aunts and female cousins and the like. Ned Stark himself had a large, young family, though both girls were far too young for court, one barely older than Lyonel and the other younger than Raymont.

Cersei might not get a Northern lady for her collection and these sessions of gossip. How else did one play the game without news?

News flowing in was what everyone wanted. It came at the cost of news flowing out.

Cersei looked at her ladies reporting what they knew. She knew these women weren't just collecting information for her. The Reach ladies would be sending little notes to Olenna Tyrell, and their own families, at the very least. The Waynwood girl was surely spying for her great-uncle. The Western girls for Father... The Dornish girl for the Martells and the Seven knew who else.

The Dornish tried to make allies of the most remarkable people. Cersei wouldn't be surprised at barbarians on horses or gutter dwellers from Pentos. The Dornish drew few lines.

Cersei was careful what she said around her ladies, for they were spies reporting on her innocent hobbies and her joy spending hours with her children. These women made Cersei appear as a good mother, and curious about the Seven Kingdoms, to the other noble houses.

It kept her potential opponents unworried about her while she focused on the prize. She certainly wasn't here to paint. Maybe a change? Cersei admitted she was worthless with a needle and thread. Maybe she should switch these meetings to readings from books, so long as it wasn't religious texts. She would rather listen to manuals about harvesting grain from a field than listen to another homily about the Mother.

She was bored of all this, she admitted.

She couldn't end it, however. She gathered this gossip and allowed others to spread observations of her for one reason: to protect her prize from the different factions who might endanger it.

The prize...

She had been wrong about what the prize was for a long time. It wasn't being married to Robert Baratheon and giving him children. The man was...were there words to describe him? Not the right ones.

He was infuriating, with a wandering eye and a boldness that should shame the Seven Kingdoms at any given feast. The late Mad King had been known for his wandering eye, but Cersei kept that comparison to herself. So the new king was little different from the old one. The Targaryen madness was showing in both of them, even if Robert's was more diluted.

No, the prize was her beautiful children whom she raised as she wished. She spent time with them. She selected their tutors and minders. She was their mother, basically their only parent. Robert didn't seem to remember he'd sired legitimate heirs at all.

The prize was fashioning the next king of the Seven Kingdoms – and that task she set herself to with some deep joy. No one seemed to understand what it was she was doing, where she poured her ambitions. Well, she wasn't hiding much. It was known in court how often she dined with her children or joined them at their lessons or walked with them through the gardens or the Godswood.

She had to put up with much muttering about her weakness, her eccentricity in doing a servant's work... Raising a child right was hard and rewarding. Do it wrong and they'd grow up horrible, like King Robert. Do it right... That was her hope, but no one at court had a brain to weigh down their skulls, it seemed, not that she said that aloud.

She knew she was making enemies by being in King's Landing and raising her children. Who else would do it right?

Their father? No.

She would raise them right. With love, with firmness, with her ideas carefully mortared into their minds. She would protect them with everything she had.

Court expected her to play their games, by their rules, in the open. Fools. She played the game in this room while painting and listening to gossip. By dropping suggestions that made circuitous routes back to Jon Arryn and Robert. By speaking with her children and teaching them to ask good questions.

She was better than a novice at the game by now, and even more effective because few saw her as the politician she was. They saw her as a mother and forgot that she was a Lannister of the main line, a student of Tywin Lannister himself.

"Oh," Cersei asked, cottoning onto a statement by Lady Allyrion. "Have you consulted a maester about that?"

"Soon, my Lady."

"You should."

"The Grand Maester was busy when I inquired."

Cersei smiled and nodded. It was a perk of being a Lady-in-Waiting to be able to consult with the Grand Maester. Some perk...

Cersei was condemned, for one, because of her disdain for the Grand Maester. It was perceived as a foolish notion that she had her own maester, Aluvin, to tend to her and her children. _Why wouldn't you want the Grand Maester to attend them?_ As if that title was a mark of skill. No, Cersei saw that Pycelle pretended to be a fool and had, in fact, over the years become a doddery fool. Her father valued him, but Cersei did not.

Maester Aluvin was a proper instructor in diplomacy and persuasion and not bad as a healer. She trusted him to give her children lessons and to act as a counselor to her.

"I wonder if any of you have heard anything of the Riverlands. Any news from passing traders? The lands are so close to the Crownlands, but I rarely hear of them," Cersei said.

"I do," Lady Waynwood said. "I have brothers and cousins who pass through them all the time. I was not aware of your interest."

Cersei was interested in everything. News of pirates in the Stepstones, yes. News of what Balon Greyjoy was plotting in the Iron Islands, yes. Whatever insanity the Martells were backing this week, yes. Those troublemakers always had more pots bubbling on the fire than they had fingers to count them with. Natural-born schemers, the lot of them.

So Cersei wanted to know all of it, but she had to keep it all so light.

"I always enjoyed traveling to Casterly Rock through the Riverlands. Of course I would hear how they are faring." She smiled one of the courteous smiles she permitted herself around her 'trusted' ladies.

Then the room heard tell of the Riverlands and a little of the North. It was passing hard to get any news out of the North.

Cersei, for her part, relayed some amusing stories of her children – which were sure to be committed to letters and to pass into the general court gossip – and a few bits of rudeness she'd encountered in the Red Keep.

She shared them even though she was often criticized for not protecting her position more forcefully, like when people said rude things in public that circulated to her ears.

She was amused by some of it. She had helped start other parts of it so that people in court would have inoffensive things to criticize her for. Though a few of the rude opinions really did irritate her.

She found out who started them and she almost always had her revenge.

Yes, she was spiteful and cruel. She held grudges. Cersei knew she was far from perfect.

She hadn't been able to obliterate her cruel impulses, the wildness of her childhood, but she had improved in her ability to keep her plans, and their results, to herself.

Through Aluvin and others, she had moon tea slipped to Robert's whores, of course, and shipped his passing favorites off to other corners of the world.

She changed the strength of his wine sometimes at a whim. From three goblets to make him sleep for two days straight to thirty goblets barely making him stagger. His tongue and nose were so battered he couldn't tell the difference, the lout.

Those were almost enough for her now. She had been wilder as a young girl, almost as much as a boy as her twin brother Jaime, but now she was more careful.

Much of what she was had changed after she had been foretold that she would have but three children, them blond of hair, and all laid out in funeral cloaks for her to see before she died. She did not accept that future – and had done everything to make sure it did not come to pass. She made sure she had more than three children, none of them blond of hair. At least Robert was good for passing along his dark hair and handsome looks.

She did not lie to herself that she was a good and just person.

She was full of spite for Robert; full of rage for her situation; but tempered by love for her children and the knowledge that Robert was killing himself with every goblet of wine. She wanted him to survive until Steffon was fifteen or sixteen at least. So another seven or eight years of him...

She doubted he would live longer than that what with the drink and his heaviness and the unhealthy vapors of the city. Cersei was sure of it, even if she had to help things along.

So she kept her most secret inclinations secret. She would not have stories of her cruelty circulating where her children might hear them. What she did was secret - and always would be.

A knock on the door quieted the rounds of storytelling.

"Come," Cersei called out.

Maester Aluvin poked his head through the door he'd opened. "Your Grace? You've had a raven from your father, Lord Lannister. It was marked with a sign of urgency."

Father wasn't one to send heedless messages. She stood and looked around at the startled ladies. "Excuse me, my ladies. Please finish your paintings. I shall return on the morrow," Cersei said.

"Ser Arys, to my rooms," she said.

She did not rush through the hallways. She always set the example, even if her children were nowhere close. In this place, gossip was always close to one ear or another. Always. She always acted in public as she wished them to act. Even when there was a possible disaster.

Ser Arys opened her door and glanced inside the chamber. Cersei waited for him to complete his inspection. She entered and beckoned Aluvin to join her.

"The message?" Cersei asked once the door was closed.

"Still sealed, on your desk."

Cersei spotted it. She walked toward the chair. "Thank you, Aluvin. Please take a seat. I may need to send a reply."

She sat and examined the seal with care. It was Father's. It was also untampered with. She cut through the seal. The message was short, as Father's almost always were. And bad news, as they often were. He didn't bother to write about his successes. He figured others would carry the news for him.

Cersei set the letter down before she picked it up again to re-read. Fools!

Jaime and the Imp together behaving stupidly...and Jaime wound up gravely injured. Not in battle, not in training, not in an attack. While drunk and being stupid in Oldtown.

Had she negotiated Jaime's exit from the Kingsguard, done in such a way that he could be heir to Casterly Rock, just for this? Jaime visiting their younger brother, who had been banished to the Citadel, so he could fall off one of the bridges in that complex of buildings...

The damned fool, no, both of them were fools.

She combed the letter for the few details it possessed. Of course, Father was in Casterly Rock and was going off a letter he'd received. Jaime or the Imp should have written her directly...

This is what she could make out: Jaime wasn't dead. He was injured – and that was not a word bursting with specificity – and still in Oldtown. He couldn't yet be moved according to the maesters there. He might never walk again.

Damn Father and his staccato letters.

Her stupid brother with his glee at spending time with Tyrion...

She remembered the last day Jaime had lived in King's Landing. It had hurt to send Jaime away from the Red Keep. It had hurt to be parted from him, but she had needed to bear Robert children when she first became queen. Now it turned out he was a fool without someone to watch over him. He had been the very picture of grace and skill...how drunk did he have to be to fall off a bridge?

She blamed the Imp. But a little of that anger washed over her regard for Jaime.

She needed to get past this quickly. She had no use for idiots, nor shedding tears for them. She spent her time planning for her children, teaching them to be proper rulers, helping them to hate their father and all of his hobbies.

She never said a cross word about Robert Baratheon, but the children could see. They might have the Baratheon coloring, but by the Seven they had Lannister-sharpened minds.

She strangled the message in her hand once more. She wouldn't raise them to be this kind of Lannister, though.

The drunken fool. To think Jaime could show off the kind of idiocy that Father might have attributed to his own father, Tytos.

Cersei first wrote a reply to Father. Then she wrote a letter to Tyrion, as scathing as she dared. She could have gone further, but she was soon to see her children again. Fire, once unleashed, wasn't always easy to bank. Last she wrote in sympathy, and some little mocking, to Jaime.

"Aluvin, who are the better healers among the maesters at Oldtown?" she asked, before finishing this last letter.

"I have been in King's Landing some years..."

She thought she had cured him of his hedging, cautious ways. "But I'm sure you keep up on the gossip."

"Indeed." He named six. The Archmaester of the discipline of healing was not among them, which was good to know.

"And which might be best for handling the effects of a fall from height?"

Here Aluvin narrowed his list to two.

"Thank you." Cersei wrote down all six names and indicated the two most likely to be of assistance. If Jaime had any sense he would consult all of them and more.

She had begun to doubt he did have good sense when in the presence of their brother.

She sealed all the letters and sent Aluvin away with them. She did not cry. She couldn't allow that to begin. She reapplied her makeup and made her way to her smaller private dining room.

The children and their septa came in telling stories, empty little things that were supposed to teach lessons from the Faith of the Seven.

Cersei gave each of her children her full attention, one at a time, as she helped them to eat honeyed duck and other delicacies.

Cassana did not amuse Cersei this day with her tantrum about not eating duck. She had seen one on the Blackwater and no longer wished to eat them... Cersei wouldn't win this one quickly so Cassana was made to eat turnips and greens. The dear girl scarcely liked them better...

Lyonel had the most glorious smile on his face. He was glad to begin training with the sword in the coming weeks. He was so happy.

Raymont had the makings of a very attentive little boy. He was quiet, but he was looking at everything. He needed to be shown nothing twice. It was almost like he was that beast Tyrion, but in a correctly portioned body. He might look a Baratheon, but her youngest was a Lannister, sharp and clever as could be.

Then, Steffon, the oldest. He really was beginning to see and understand the world around him. He even asked Cersei why she seemed sad. She had been trying her best to hide it.

She admitted she had news that their Uncle Jaime had been injured while on a trip. None of them knew their uncle well so it didn't upset them much. Before today, such a reaction would have inspired Cersei to begin planning a trip to Casterly Rock so that her children could meet the rest of the family. Now, in her fury, she decided she wouldn't bother with idiots.

She asked her children questions and listened to their answers. She was trying to see what sort of people they might become - or what training she might need to give them to help them reach their destined roles.

She loved them all, but she needed to figure where each of them fit.

The first, a king born to rule and trained to use his mind. Steffon.

He didn't have much choice in the matter, but Cersei thought he would enjoy being King.

The second, a lady of a great house, wise and generous and merciless when required. Cassana.

The third, a fearsome knight and protector. Perhaps Ser Lyonel in the future or Lord Baratheon of Casterly Rock?

Since his uncles were idiots.

The fourth, too young to know. But she imagined a bright mind entering the Citadel, sweeping away the shame of the Imp. Raymont, a true Grand Maester?

She laughed when the fruit came out and her little ones tore into the honey apples as if they'd never had a bit of sweetness in their lives. Even the grumpiness on Cassana's face disappeared.

Surrounded by such luxury, they could still delight in the simple things. Cersei wished she still could. Perhaps this was why she enjoyed her children so much, such innocence, such power. Such a future!

These are what Lannisters should be like, even if the only true Lannisters bore the name Baratheon. The Imp and even Jaime disgusted her at this moment. When Father and Uncle Kevan died, these would be the people who shaped the world in the proper way. The Lannister way.

But if Jaime was a disappointment, perhaps never to walk again...

Cersei was going to have to get another child off Robert. Maybe two. She wasn't just populating the upper tier of King's Landing now. She might have to produce an heir for Casterly Rock along with a daughter or two who could be married into the West. Did she have to do all the work in this family?

X-X-X


	6. Queen Cersei the Patient II

X-X-X

Queen Cersei the Patient

Chapter Two

X-X-X

A/N: I decided to have Cersei show some teeth. Not quite to the extent she did in the last episode of this season's television show. This version remains _smart_ and ruthless, though the world around her is unpredictable.

X-X-X

Cersei felt a hand gently wake her. She blinked and sat up. "Aluvin?"

"Your Grace, I am sorry for waking you."

Why, what late night disaster? Fear strangled at her neck. Fear for her children. "The triplets?"

"No, your Grace."

Not her youngest, then. They were but a few turns of the moon old. "One of the twins?"

Or one of her other children?

"No, your Grace. I just learned that Jon Arryn has died this past hour."

She pushed herself up in the bed. Her mind was slow to switch topics. There were rumors of fevers in the city. Her newest children were still small and a little sickly. Twins, then triplets. She had been one of a pair of twins so such a pregnancy hadn't been impossible. But triplets... Her own body was still recovering.

The trouble wasn't her family. Good.

The trouble was the Kingdoms. Which was bad.

"Jon Arryn. Lord Arryn, the Hand of the King?" she confirmed.

"Yes, Your Grace."

She nodded away her lack of sleep.

"This is no rumor? You saw the body yourself?"

"I went to the Tower of the Hand first."

Damnation.

She would need to get involved now. She would need to set her true skill to work. There was no more Hand on whom to drop hints and suggestions.

"Retire to my solar, Aluvin, so I can dress. Get someone to start a fire. Take some care not to wake the children."

Her children were in rooms very close to her own.

"As you say, your Grace."

"Get some food sent up, enough for everyone who we'll be waking early. Alert men you trust."

"I've set extra guards and men."

Disordered moments were always dangerous. Plotters liked to enact their plans in moments like these. Plotters very much like herself, in fact. So she knew enough to be nervous.

"Double the guard around my children. But try not to be obvious about it," Cersei said.

He nodded and left.

She rose after Aluvin left and set to dressing herself in something quick, appropriate for her private rooms. She had trouble doing this by herself for her mind was on other matters.

Jon Arryn, old but not that old, had been handling everything of the kingdoms. Robert bedded any woman he laid eyes on and sniffed out flagons of expensive wine. That had been the division of efforts. They each did what they were best at. The Hand and the Whoremaster.

Now, with Lord Arryn dead... Trade matters, keeping tensions between lords in check, keeping the taxes flowing, getting the summer harvests in. There were ten thousand things that the Hand had overseen in some way.

Robert wouldn't do the work himself. He probably couldn't do it.

He'd been king more than fifteen years and knew so little about governing there were girls in the kitchens who would be better fit to sit on the Iron Throne.

So, Robert would flail around and seek for a new Hand. Better than him to govern for himself for a time.

The problem was this: there was no second John Arryn.

There was no one on the Small Council obviously ready to step into the role. Certainly not the present Master of Laws, Renly Baratheon. There were few enough former Hands available to tap, most of those had died in the Rebellion or been murdered by the Mad King's order. There was one, though, but she did not want her Father back in King's Landing.

Compared to the alternative brooding back at Casterly Rock, Cersei had come to appreciate Jon Arryn's skills. They had not liked each other, not at all, but she had figured out how to work with him.

She wasn't stupid in political matters or matters of appearance. First, she didn't make demands in public. She worked through friends. At one point, one of Jon's relations had been among Cersei's ladies-in-waiting, before the girl was married off. Now she used others. Jon had had his people respond to her.

Second, they both kept this little dance to themselves. Robert never knew he was agreeing to her proposals because she never spoke them to him, just to others. In this manner, she and Jon had forged a working relationship, totally dysfunctional in theory, but not bad in reality.

Now she needed to set someone into office who she could work with – or, at least, not find herself working against. Father, for all his virtues, was not this person. He was not and would not be an even-handed Hand.

Her search through the records proved that. When he had ruled for Aerys, Father had worked the details so that the West had prospered at the expense, or at least neglect, of the other Kingdoms. No wonder Aerys and Father had eventually parted ways.

Father had actually been robbing the King blind with various of his proposals. That fact did not appear in any history of the Mad King's reign, save for certain documents residing in the treasury, but it was the truth.

She gave up on her grooming and moved quietly to her solar. It was cool and the fire wasn't yet very warm.

"Thank you for waking me, Aluvin. This disaster could not wait," she said.

Aluvin nodded.

"I hadn't even heard he was sick. He was hale at that feast a week ago."

"I had heard nothing," Aluvin said.

Jon Arryn was good at keeping information to himself, but illness was impossible to hide in a place like this for a man as prominent as the Hand.

So something rapid...

"Who attended him?" she asked.

"The Grandmaester..."

"He couldn't have always been such a bungler," Cersei said. "But you master what you practice. A pretend fool for forty years becomes a real one."

It was an answer, but not one that she liked.

"I looked at him, briefly."

"Insist upon examining himself yourself," Cersei said. "To ensure there is no disease that might affect the Royal Family, assuming anyone asks you for a reason."

"You suspect something?"

Cersei didn't, but she coming around to the idea. "A fever strikes one and no other?"

"So far."

"Check the Tower of the Hand for other cases. The wife, the son, his close servants, his assistants. Be sure to look at Lord Arryn. Do what you can to investigate maladies other than fever, especially ones that can be tipped into a goblet."

By that she meant poisons.

"A powerful man...with ruthless enemies," Aluvin said, seeing her meaning.

"The Dornish? They are known poisoners."

She agreed, but decided it didn't feel right. The Dornish had no known ambassadors in the court. They could have hired someone, but they were usually more direct. They liked earning their vengeance themselves. In any case, they would have been more likely to poison Robert than his Hand.

"Investigate and set your men to snooping," she said.

"I shall, your Grace."

After Aluvin left, Cersei poured some watered wine and ate some cheese. It was going to be a long day and she'd not have half the Hold up waking her children.

Gods, she was the mother of nine. She had not miscarried once. She had had the Mother's Blessing in all her efforts. So she would continue in her work to keep them safe.

This disaster was the first one that scared her. The Greyjoy mess years ago had been stupidity. There had been fevers and the like. But this... This was a time of danger because it was a time for opportunists.

She was confusing the issues. It was time to simplify. She would wait to figure out the Jon Arryn part of this trouble until she had more information from Aluvin.

The Robert Baratheon part was easier. What would Robert would want to do – and did it have a lick of sense?

She moved to her desk and began to write down all the names for a new Hand that might occur to Robert. Stannis, his brother. Renly, his younger brother. Eddard Stark, who had stuck to the North except for that Greyjoy mess. Hoster Tully, Robert's old (and ailing) ally during the Rebellion. The names of some of the principal lords of the Stormlands. A few others from the Vale, like Royce and Redfort.

Who else?

Here she paused. Robert really had a narrow circle of allies.

She wrote down Ser Barristan's name. In a pinch, he could move from heading the Kingsguard to being the Hand of the King.

She wrote down Jaime's name – and Father's, with great reluctance. Jaime had recovered from his fall all those years ago, but he wasn't the same warrior he had been. He also bristled under being Father's heir.

Father had served twenty years as Hand and enriched the West during that time. Robert and Father hated each other, though. Father was unbearable even to her, she found.

She wrote down Pycelle's name. That one she would have to actively oppose. She wrote down a few other educated figures from the periphery of the court.

She was lying to herself now. It would be Renly or Eddard Stark.

Damn Robert.

He hated most of the lords of the Crownlands. 'Secret Dragon Lovers.'

He had no strong ties into the Riverlands other than through its (now dying) Lord Paramount.

Another from the Vale after Lord Arryn's passing? Someone from the Iron Islands?

Robert didn't know many of the Lords of the North. He hated the Westerlands, even some of Father's quiet rivals, which was foolish.

The Reach seemed to hate Robert as much as he hated them. And the Dornish... If they could light Robert on fire, they would complain that he perished too quickly and without screaming loud enough.

Jon had brought it all off, all the work. He had had all the connections and kept the lords appeased.

She had to tell the truth now of how Robert might handle this. She crossed out Stannis. She crossed out all the names save for Lord Stark's and Renly's. And even Robert had to know that Renly was unserious about this kind of work.

What a disaster: just one name.

Who else had a steady mind? She wrote down a few new names. Hightower. Manderly. Frey, though that hurt to put on parchment. So many lords and almost all of them unsuited to purpose.

She needed to magic up a new Hand and quickly before Robert settled on Ned Stark and dragged the man down here. He was good in the North, by all reports. But what kind of a disaster would he be in the South, among all the cheaters and liars?

In the North, he was Lord of All. Down here, he was merely the King's chief cajoler and beggar. It wasn't power that a Hand used. It was rewards and threats, punishing some and begifting others. It was keeping certain lords at each other's throats in order to keep them away from the King's.

What Jon had managed was dazzling for someone regarded by many as The Usurper.

Ned Stark was not the man to carry this work off. Best to leave him where he could settle troubles, not start new ones. His northern lords respected his family name and him. Down south, it mean nothing.

A knock on her door startled Cersei. She had spent far too long on her parchment endeavor. She knew what it meant. One name, only one name for Robert to latch onto.

"Come," she intoned.

Aluvin stepped inside, puffing as if he had run a considerable distance. "Lysa Arryn wasn't in the Tower of the Hand."

"Not in... Where was she?"

"The gossips around the Red Keep pointed me to her quickly. She was in a wheelhouse with Jon Arryn's heir making her way from King's Landing. I arranged for her to be stopped."

By the Seven... "Fleeing..."

"Yes, your Grace."

So an unhappy marriage had ended with the death of one? Or was this something else? "That's not troubling at all... I think you should have someone speak with her."

"That was also my thought, just as soon as the guards return her here."

"Someone gentle for the first conversation."

"I shall do it myself."

Aluvin had proven he could follow orders. Even difficult ones.

"Does my husband know yet, about Jon Arryn?"

"Pycelle had said the King was exhausted."

Which Cersei knew to mean drunk or otherwise entertained.

"Keep anyone from waking him. I shall tell him myself. I intend to mention that Lysa Arryn has been acting very strangely."

"That she was, your Grace."

Cersei gave Aluvin some instructions and returned to her thinking. She reached for more parchment and began to put down her thoughts.

She didn't make one plan. She made several depending upon what Robert said or did. He was so damned unpredictable on some things. Years as his wife hadn't completely made him plain to her.

She bathed and redressed. Then she walked to Robert's suite of rooms which was a good distance from her own and from the children's. If he was going to root around with loud women, he could do it far away from her and his progeny.

"Robert?"

"Hells, woman. Leave me be," he grumbled.

"Robert, wake up. You'll need to know this."

"Buy a new dress?"

"Robert, Jon Arryn died overnight."

"What..." He burst up out of his bed and flopped what seemed to be a naked girl onto the hard stone floor.

"Say that again!"

"Jon Arryn died..."

"No. Impossible."

He ran out wearing little more than his small clothes. Cersei grabbed a robe for him, but instructed a Kingsguard to get rid of the girl, pay her off.

She found Robert in the Tower of the Hand and made him wear his robe. Robert was weeping over Jon. Weeping.

At least there was something he genuinely loved. She almost had forgotten him capable. He barely thought about his children, even though he now had nine.

"I'd pay my respects to his wife. Where is she?" Robert asked some time later.

"She was in a wheelhouse on her way out of King's Landing when I heard Jon was dead..."

"She just left?"

"Before almost anyone knew he was dead..."

Robert scowled. "I'll want to speak to that woman."

"I have a maester looking after her. I'll see her myself."

"Fine. You're good at pulling people apart, even if they don't deserve it," Robert said. "Didn't like the woman."

Yet Jon Arryn had married her so that Robert could have the Riverland levies during the Rebellion... Honesty always came too late with Robert. If Cersei had only known what being his queen meant...

"If she knows something or had a hand in this, leave some of her for me."

Cersei left Robert to his weeping and his renewed drinking. She wondered if he would have sobbed if he wasn't still drunk.

He hadn't mentioned replacing Jon yet. That would come soon.

X-X-X

Cersei made it a point not to interrupt her family routines. She joined her children while they broke their fasts. It was the third time she'd eaten since she woke, but she was hungry again.

She tried to be gentle as she told Steffon, Cassana, Lyonel, and Raymont what had happened to their Uncle Jon.

The twins and the triplets were far too young to understand.

Twins and triplets... She needed to get used to using their names. Her twins were Myrcella and Alyce. The triplets were Joffrey, Joanna, and Jillyan.

She spent some time comforting Cassana and Lyonel. Steffon and Raymont didn't seem confused yet. Maybe they'd have questions later?

She knew the tutors and minders would have a tough time with them today. But life wasn't always predictable.

That was the last normal thing to happen as she ushered her older children to their lessons and her younger back to the nursery.

For Cersei, the day became confusing. No, outrageous, even for a woman used to the oddities of King's Landing.

She walked to Aluvin's rooms which had been hollowed out by closing off certain secret tunnels.

He had had a hand in their construction. Some of the rooms retained secret observation nooks, like the room that Lysa Arryn was in now. Cersei stood in one, peering out through a spy hole as she looked at the widow. The odd, nervous bit of woman couldn't see Cersei in return.

The Lady Arryn refused to speak about what she'd seen or what had caused her to attempt to flee King's Landing. She demanded this, then demanded something else.

Cersei didn't care what she wanted. Lysa Arryn had held a little power in King's Landing because her husband had been Hand.

With Lord Arryn dead, she was just another crazy woman who might also be a criminal.

Cersei only had to wait for twenty minutes before the Lady Arryn said something of interest, another of her demands. "Let me speak with Petyr."

"Petyr?" Aluvin asked her.

"Lord Baelish. The Master of Coin."

"And why would you wish to speak with him?" Aluvin asked.

That was exactly what Cersei wanted to know. She had been the wife of the Hand, but she decided to invoke the Master of Coin as her protector? Shouldn't she have demanded to speak with the King, trading on Robert's love for Jon?

Lysa Arryn and this Littlefinger... Cersei remembered that this woman had had something to do with getting him the appointment, hadn't she?

Could she have been that dull a wench? Inviting her lover to court, getting him a position... Doing more?

Cersei began to dislike this woman even more. Jon Arryn had been very useful to Cersei. A fine 'uncle' to her children, a fine check on some of Robert's impulses, though not all. Someone who tried to make the Kingdoms run in the face of stubbornness and rivalries.

This woman and this jumped up minor lord...

If they had done this, Cersei would see them torn to pieces. This she vowed by the old gods and the new.

The Lady Arryn flushed eventually and went silent. She realized she had talked herself into trouble.

Cersei walked outside the rooms. She checked in on Lord Arryn's son, a pitiful, twtiching thing mewling for his mother. Perfectly vile.

She summoned one of Aluvin's men, Garen Hill. "You have some men?" she asked.

"Plenty, your Grace."

"Let's get them to clap hands on Baelish."

"The Master of Coin?"

"And the possible lover of the wife of the late Lord Arryn."

Garen's eyes widened, though he said nothing.

"Let's start a search among his properties."

"Yes, your Grace. What are we looking for?"

"I want his papers. His ledgers. He's a sneak, so I want his secrets. He's the kind who writes them down."

"He is?"

"Too many to keep in his head. He'll write them down."

Aluvin's man looked overwhelmed at the task. Baelish hadn't been long resident in King's Landing, a few years, but he had already dug himself deep. Which should have been a clear enough sign, Cersei thought, unhappy with even herself over this.

"I'll give you Lannister men to hold his properties, but you were picked by my maester. You will do the searching."

"Yes, your Grace."

"Good man, Hill."

Cersei set another to searching the Tower of the Hand. She tried to think of other places. No, they'd have to unravel whatever Baelish had to find the rest. He and his smile. Yes, he kept secrets.

Cersei returned to the observation room. The lady was speaking again. Hesitant and halting. Aluvin said calming words to her, becoming her greatest friend.

Aluvin was clever in his approach. Cersei listened to everything he said.

He was praising Baelish and Lysa Arryn was lapping it up. It was clear enough what was what now.

Lysa began to speak of her childhood at Riverrun. With Baelish in fosterage. Great friends, and more.

Aluvin even got her to admit to a romance with Baelish even after she was married to Jon Arryn. Foolish woman.

She was damned.

Cersei went to observe the other happenings for a time. Baelish had been confined to a cell by himself. He was smiling even though he couldn't see anyone in the room with him. That smile faltered a bit, then returned.

Yes, this was the way. Allow time and fear to break him. Garen Hill had set this up well so far. Aluvin would do well with Baelish now.

"I know you're out there, Varys. What did you do? What did you say?" Baelish asked. "How will you turn this to your advantage, _old friend_?"

Interesting. Cersei learned several things.

First, Cersei wasn't as quiet as she thought. Second, Baelish might really mean it. Or he might be attempting to dump Varys into the same stewpot he was sitting in.

Third, didn't matter, did it? Cersei hadn't much trusted Arryn's appointment for the Master of Coin, especially because Jon Arryn hadn't even considered the handful of candidates she'd suggested through intermediaries. None had been Lannisters, just reasonably honest sorts.

Last, even before Baelish's accusation, she hadn't trusted Varys, who had come to King's Landing at the Mad King's invitation. Varys cozied up to her from time to time to grace her with a tidbit she'd already worked out elsewhere. His news was never completely fresh, like a fish dead two or three days. Something not so pleasant to feast upon.

What did Varys know? She would have to find out...

For a little while longer, she stood and watched Baelish waver between firmness and doubt. He had played a deep game. With what it seemed he had done, he could have thrown the Seven Kingdoms into unimaginable turmoil. Had he been talked into helping to murder a Hand? Or did he suggest the idea himself? Either way, he was in it.

She was surprised he hadn't aimed higher. Why not murder a King? What was his game?

Aluvin arrived to begin on Baelish quite some time later. Cersei wished he'd left Baelish longer, but he must have been truly startled by the things Lysa had said or that Garen Hill had found.

"My men found the poison," Aluvin said.

Cersei smiled. So it was poison.

Littlefinger stared ahead. He didn't ask which poison or why it was important or anything else. He knew. His silence showed that he knew.

"We found Lysa Arryn's letters to you. Foolish to keep them. She burned the ones you sent her – or perhaps you never sent a one."

Littlefinger's throat looked like it was tightening.

"Who are you to question me?" the Master of Coin asked.

Yes, attack the inquisitor. He had survived in the shadows and didn't like sitting alone at a table, being set upon with questions.

"Was it just the five pillow houses you 'own' in King's Landing? I have spared as many men as I could for your records. You learned a neat hand for the ledger books, my Lord."

Baelish had resumed his sullen stare.

"I've never been one for the wenches. I'm not at all clear on why you took the Lady Arryn for your mistress. You have many more attractive, even more intelligent women, at your disposal."

Baelish looked to the door. He looked up. He was sweating now.

"We are beginning to run down your finances. Like a Braavosi trader, aren't you? Lies everywhere, little deals. Though it seems, upon review, that the King's Coin paid for all your enterprises here and elsewhere."

Cersei was surprised at that. Not that a Master of Coin would divert a little, but that he dared to divert enough to buy five prominent, disgusting establishments. The irony: it seemed that Robert had purchased, and therefore owned, all of Baelish's brothels.

Wouldn't he be glad to know? Maybe he'd get a discount from now on?

Cersei stood and watched and listened. Baelish twitched but said little. He was a reasonably cool one, like a brick of river ice slowly melting at that table.

Aluvin laid it all out with care after he had dropped a few highlights from the evidence. Cersei pieced it all together. It was worrying how long this plot had taken to hatch, and how many had been involved, without Cersei hearing even a word of it.

Aluvin, for his part, was enraged and not a little embarrassed sitting in the other room.

"We have several drafts of a letter from the Lady Arryn to her sister, the Lady Stark, in which she accused, 'The Lannisters,' of poisoning Lord Arryn. Sounds like she was taking dictation. Your words, my Lord?"

Ah, Cersei thought.

"There were attempts to translate the message into some unknown code as well. Why encypher it when you keep around the plain message? Foolishness."

Baelish had gone red in the face. So he had been the leader. Lysa Arryn the follower, as slow witted as she looked.

What did that say about Baelish? A troublemaker who would use old suspicions between Stark and Lannister to cause greater strife...

Cersei worked it through. The plan was clever. Kill a man, blame an obvious other suspect, sit back as great houses tore at each other.

Baelish had planned to do more damage than just killing a King. By killing the Hand, with certain accusations to follow, he not only meant to weaken the King, but plunge many Great Houses into strife against each other. Stark and his wife, a Tully, versus Lannister. Plus the Arryns who were the injured party. All set in motion by a Tully and one of the Arryn lords.

It was simple and clever, like the very best sort of lie.

Cersei had thought she kept up on the details of this crazy city, but she learned she was wrong. The games were much deeper and quieter than she had expected. This Baelish wasn't overt and stupid like the Reynes and Tarbecks who Father had destroyed. The hatred simmered for far longer and his actions had a whiff of brilliance about them.

This man would die.

What had her concerned now was where would the next Littlefinger come from? The next schemer who started his plan with a great push...

She left Aluvin to his work. He and his people were good at many kinds of tasks. This was new for them, this kind of overt work, but they did not disappoint.

Cersei walked to another of Aluvin's rooms and reviewed some of the documents Aluvin had referenced, but stopped with the letter in Lysa Arryn's hand accusing 'Lannisters' of killing Jon Arryn. It was a cold plot. One that she should have heard about.

Cersei took Ser Barristan with her as she made her way through the Red Keep. There. There was the one she wished to speak with.

"Varys?" she asked.

The plump brain on wobbly legs paused. His eyes opened wide. "Your Grace?"

"I think we should speak."

"It would be my pleasure. Shall we?" He gestured to somewhere. The slippery man was probably looking for an escape.

"Here is fine."

His face twitched ever so slightly. "I see. Well, it is a shame about Lord Arryn's fever..."

"Fever?"

"Of course it was a fever..."

"Everyone will know better than that soon enough," Cersei said. Why had she ever been impressed by the secrets this man could collect? He was a poor liar.

"My concern is that you did not warn anybody about what Baelish planned. You could hardly miss it. What with your obsessive rivalry with the Master of Coin. You had to know..."

He smiled like he had a great gift to present to someone.

He must be disappointed right now. For so many years Jon Arryn had presided over these men, only for his death to topple all of them off a great wall on the same day. Jon's need for them had protected them and their games. She had other needs at present and was willing to get a little bloody.

"They were poisoners, Varys. Poisoners!"

"Your Grace..."

"Lysa Arryn and Petyr Baelish have dined with my husband, with me, with my children. That bit of poison work could have killed my children, Varys. Bad enough it robbed us of a good Hand. You know how hard it is to find a new one."

"I can imagine."

"And there is the reason I think you did not warn anyone. Lord Arryn's death was to your benefit somehow."

"Your Grace, I have been loyal these many years."

Loyal? But to whom. "We shall see. Ser Barristan, please escort this man to the suite of rooms we just left."

"Yes, your Grace," the aging knight said.

Varys did not protest. He had to be planning on how to weasel his way free. He would not.

Cersei watched Ser Barristan take him away. The knight seemed quite pleased, actually. He seemed not to have opinions, but perhaps he really did. What had the man learned by observing Jon Arryn and the last few Hands of the Mad King, in addition to the other members of the various Small Councils?

Perhaps he was suitable for a promotion? She had written his name down, but it might be worthwhile to push for him.

Perhaps.

She decided to continue her cleaning. Cersei selected some Lannister men-at-arms and went hunting for her last target, Pycelle the fraud.

The man was undressing a prostitute when she found him. There was the vigor he pretended not to have, all lavished on a girl he had sworn great oaths to no longer desire.

Cersei said not a word to him. He protested his innocence, of course. It was an examination of a woman by a healer, nothing more.

Anyone who had rights to consult with the Grandmaester was known to Cersei by sight. This was an unknown woman and looked like she was terrified upon clapping eyes on the Queen. Yeah... She was probably one of Robert's leftovers.

It had been a busy day undoing Robert's Small Council. Then she realized she was late for her meeting with her ladies-in-waiting.

She considered begging off... But there was decorum involved. Dorne was spying on her. The Reach. The Vale no longer mattered much after Lord Arryn's death. The little girl from the Riverlands was terribly timid and the people to whom she reported were fading, particularly after one of the daughters of House Tully was executed for treason.

When Cersei arrived, none of them were stitching anything. It was talk, talk, talk. She sat and didn't even bother to pick up the piece she had been working.

She knew more than her ladies about the plot itself. She learned from them about her husband's reaction to Lord Arryn's death. Without telling her, Robert had already ordered the court to begin packing for a trip north, far north.

Damnation. She had wanted to know why and how. Robert had just wanted to know, what next? The cold asshole. Shed a few tears and sweep it off the ramparts.

Still, she sat and listened to her ladies until it was time for the evening meal with her children. Robert turned up to this one to instruct them all that they were taking a trip north.

"We will discuss that later," Cersei said. She gave him the stare she said, daring him to gainsay her.

He did not, the coward.

Her four oldest children were divided in their reactions to the promise of a trip. Steffon and Lyonel were excited, but attended to their suppers. Cassana and Raymont smiled, but were clearly less entranced by the idea.

Robert was chomping at the bit to argue with her, but she conducted her usual rituals. She talked to each of her four oldest. She dragged Robert into the conversation as much as she could. He was their Father. He was an example to them all, even if it was a poor one. But they should know that for themselves. His attendance at a non-feast meal with them was rare enough.

Cersei had finally allowed nannies to help with the children after she fell pregnant with what would turn out to be triplets. So now she did what she could to feed everyone and had to keep from looking at Robert's attack on his platter, not plate, of food.

Cersei did not cut short her usual evening chat with her children so that she could speak with Robert. Though she had to promise to take the four oldest on a walk in the 'Godswood' the next afternoon. Smart children, negotiating already.

These days, she did not normally join them for their noon-time meal because of the swordsmanship lessons the boys had. Sometimes they ran long. Sometimes the boys were awfully dirty. So it had been easier to change the schedule a little. Now they wanted their mother at the old time, too.

"Off you go," she said.

She had raised them with manners, but she got a few objections and whines.

She graced her four oldest with her blank stare – and the resistance crumbled.

She gave each a kiss, even the twins and triplets... She needed to start using their names. They wouldn't appreciate being known as Twins and Triplets...

She sat back down at the table once the door was closed and secure.

"Thank you for not arguing in front of the children," Cersei said.

Robert grunted. "What do you mean saying no?"

"I cannot take the twins or the triplets on a trip of that length..."

"Of course not. I meant Steff, Cass, Lyo, and Ray."

He shortened about every name he came across if he didn't mangle it outright. Ray was a ridiculous name for the child. He was Raymont for sure, not Ray. (Though Lyonel fit the shortened name well enough, Lyo like a lion.)

Two months or longer to arrive in the north, just as long to return? Cersei was not amused. "Take a ship, then."

"Steff, at the least, will rule these Kingdoms. He should see it, Cersei. Cass will be a great lady someplace. Perhaps at the place I mean to visit."

Robert's plans were never complex. Fun for himself, punishments for his enemies or 'rewards' for his friends. This plan involved being absent from King's Landing for perhaps half a year, his great adventure to the north along handing out a 'reward.' "A betrothal with the Starks?"

"We have nine children," Robert said.

And she had bore them for great purpose. Not to gift them to people who were already strongly bound to the Iron Throne. The North was content with its lot.

"Robert, do you consider Lord Stark still to be your friend?" Cersei asked.

"What? Of course."

"You wish him well..."

"I wish to honor him."

No. He wished to give him gifts that were traps...and lay burdens on the man.

"What have you heard about Jon Arryn's death?" Cersei asked.

He became wary at that. "I was told fever."

"No. Poison..."

His face went still and stony. "His wife? You said something about her acting oddly. Perhaps."

It was amazing Robert remembered that much considered how he was drinking and crying.

"She and your Master of Coin did it."

"Littlefinger?" Robert grumbled.

"My men are talking with him now. And her."

"Varys did not tell me. Haven't had any news from him since this morning, either."

"He's also under close arrest. He knew and did not interrupt the plot. Pycelle, as well. He could have cured the poison and chose not to do so."

That last bit she wasn't sure of, of course. But she would make the accusation and no one would be able to refute it.

"My whole Small Council!" Robert roared.

"Not Ser Barristan or your brothers."

Stannis wouldn't plot like that. The younger boy seemed more interested in his luxuries, and in the many temptations of Highgarden, than in plotting against Jon Arryn.

"Little comfort that. Now you see why I need Ned."

"Robert, it was a plot none of us saw hatching."

"True." He was angry at that.

"Do you wish for your friend, Lord Stark, to stumble into something else like it? Lord Arryn had five and ten years as Hand and he didn't see it coming."

"So you're telling me I'd protect Ned by not dragging him here?" Robert asked with a sullen voice.

Once he cast his mind to a thing it was the Smith's own toil to unfix it.

"You know it's true."

"Then who protects me?" Robert asked.

Always the selfish question with him. Not _helps_ me. Not protects the _Kingdoms_. 'Who protects me?' Like a massive child never weaned.

"There are many good candidates," Cersei said.

"Name them."

Here it was time to see how the fortune of the world would shift. "Appoint Ser Barristan as your Hand."

"Impossible."

It wasn't. Robert wasn't listening or thinking.

"He has watched every action of your reign and the one before yours. He is a strong man, one of honor."

"It's impossible. He doesn't have a lord's training or mind."

Such a weak reason. "Then Lord Selmy, his nephew? Any of the Marcher Lords? Any of the Stormlords? Lords Royce or Redfort?"

"I want Ned."

"Stannis," she said.

Robert laughed. "I want Ned."

"He won't say no to you."

"I should hope not."

"He'll be miserable here."

Robert agreed. It didn't dissuade him. "He is my oldest surviving friend, not that you understand friendship." He looked at her. "I suppose you really want your Father?" Robert asked.

"No. I'm happy with him at Casterly Rock," Cersei said. She had learned from him over her many name days, but had come to reject several of the things he treasured. He wanted a bright and golden name. She wanted, above all, happy and talented children in her family. She had done her best to guide them all and teach them and prepare them.

"I want Ned Stark," Robert said once more.

"He is Warden of the North. He is a stern figure in war. But would he want to come south and battle with parchments and coin counters in the Treasury? People as duplicitous as Littlefinger?"

"He is an honorable and a strong man."

Which was why he would fair poorly in this swamp. "He is your friend. Do him a good service, Robert."

"But I need him."

Her children didn't whine this much. "So invite him to court, have him advise you. Do not expect him to be happy sitting for you in a throne room where his brother and father were murdered."

Ah, that struck Robert for the first time. He paused. "Ah, yes. Bad business... I hadn't thought... I won't have your father."

"No, not my father," Cersei agreed.

"Well, who?"

She had given him several good names. He hadn't listened to a one. Now he might, maybe.

"What is it you want?" Cersei asked.

"Ten years free from your father's plots."

"He breathes, he plots. No man alive or dead will stop him," Cersei said.

Robert laughed. "I'll remember that. I want peace."

He says he wants peace. He's bored. He wants conflict.

"Did you have peace under Jon Arryn?"

"Peace enough."

"Dorne seethes."

"But they always seethe," Robert countered. "The Tyrells are half-dangerous and half-fools. Too many swords, too few brains to swing them well. Hoster Tully is dying. And that leaves Ned...who, all right, needs another few years to get his own heirs to the proper age. I need to remind him to train them well."

"You could placate Dorne with an appointment," Cersei said, grimacing. "Maybe not Hand. Maybe Master of Whispers..."

"Varys... So you're sure he's guilty?"

"I will be. He could have prevented Lord Arryn's death."

"Then he dies. I still need a new Hand."

"You have lords of major cities who could help you as Hand. The North had the Manderlys, they are very loyal to the Starks."

"Aye. I've known a few. But the current lord is rather huge..."

"Skipping Gulltown..."

"Why skip it?"

"Two appointments as Hand from the Vale?"

"Continue," Robert said.

"We'd have Oldtown, Lannisport..."

Robert grimaced at the last, as she'd intended. "Oldtown? A Hightower, interesting."

"Or decorated knights and fighting men. Throw the Riverlands a sop and give a post to the Blackfish. Randyll Tarly from the Reach. The list isn't a short one..."

Robert shook his head. "Stop talking, woman. Just tell me who it is you want as Hand."

"Ser Barristan or your brother Stannis."

"Gods, why? To plague me? Ser Barristan would stare at me with his disappointed expression. I know it well. His is better than yours."

It still didn't work on Robert.

"If it's Stannis, he'll want Storm's End. Then what do I do with Renly, the brother I actually like?"

Stannis had one quality that Cersei prized. Robert so mistrusted his younger brother that he wouldn't be hunting and drinking every moment of the day. It wouldn't be pleasant for Stannis, but the Kingdoms might be better for it. Perhaps.

Then Robert might just demonstrate exactly how little of the job he could do.

"No," he said. "It'll be Ned."

And those four words changed it all for her. "I see," she said.

She had spent the day playing Hand of the King – and she wasn't bad at it. Though the crisis had been a bit wearing. What did she need Robert for? Organizing tourneys or trips to the distant north; keeping the pillow houses in coin; sowing the vineyards of Dorne with plenty of golden coins?

He had just become a problem. Her only concern was that Steffon was a little young to take over as King.

That wasn't an impossible problem, though. A Regent? Everyone would expect her to put her name forward... So she would do otherwise. She could have Stannis named Regent, ensure he kept to Dragonstone for the most part, and do as she wished.

Her son was going to be an excellent king. He knew how to rule, not as Robert would or as Tywin Lannister would or Aerys Targaryen. He knew his own mind. He could be firm. He could also be kind. He cared about the details and the effects of his choices.

He lost his temper sometimes, but he didn't make irreversible choices yet. He could be cautious; he could also be bold. All of these in combination could be problematic. But he did take counsel. He could think.

"I'm going to fetch down Ned."

"As you wish. The children shall not accompany you."

"I want them to see the North."

"You may have Eddard Stark down here if you wish. I will not have all my children travel north without me."

"But..."

"Do not test me. Anyway, you'll make better time without a wheelhouse."

"Well, you aren't wrong about that," Robert said, pleased to have his choice. Not caring about the children any longer. Like a boy chasing after a shiny bit of bronze.

"When do you leave?" she asked.

"Tomorrow."

"Before the funeral? Before the trials of Lysa Arryn, Petyr Baelish..."

"Take their damned heads."

She nodded. She would.

She would also have Robert's. His time was done. She breathed easier and felt her shoulders lighten. For so long she had wished... She only hoped Steffon would be ready.

It seemed just a little petty to kill a man over this. But this was a crisis and he was completely useless. He had driven the Kingdoms deep into debt and would not mend his ways. He was going to hand a wreck to Steffon if he lived another three or five years. The Iron Bank of Braavos might just begin backing that Beggar King in Essos and pay for sellswords.

No. Robert did not want to rule. He did not want to do anything of value. He had been a poor caretaker for Steffon, but now his time was ended. Poor stupid Robert.

She regretted it, of course. He had given her nine children. But he could not see the danger of the moment – which made _him_ the new danger of the moment. Baelish and the other would spill their secrets, by word or written secrets left unhidden or by deed. They were ended. Robert wasn't one who could be put in a cell. That was the bad thing about becoming a King. When it was time to leave, there was only one way to do it.

Cersei left without another word. She sought out Aluvin and caught up on the most recent developments in these plots, which were considerable. His men had discovered purloined coinage, secret bank accounts in Essos, ledgers containing the bribes Baelish paid and who had taken them. Aluvin had also begun unraveling Varys' network of spies, tongueless children he imported from Essos... It was all perfectly vile.

"Give the prisoners food and drink and keep them here. The Black Cells are surrounded by every kind of secret passage."

"Yes, Your Grace."

"We should speak further in my solar."

Aluvin came along silently.

She saw that a Kingsguard, Ser Meron Flowers, was stationed in front of her door. She nodded at him. Ser Meron opened her door. She bolted it from the inside.

"My husband leaves tomorrow for Winterfell," she told Aluvin.

"Before Lord Arryn's funeral? Before the trials? While it's all so unsettled."

There couldn't be a single person in King's Landing who wouldn't think Robert's behavior incomprehensible.

"He's given me a free hand to settle things," Cersei said.

"But who will front the trials?"

"We'll find someone. We'll also need to make nice with the Citadel after chopping off Pycelle's head."

"I can help with that," Aluvin said. He kept his contacts in Oldtown.

"Yes."

Cersei pulled out quill and parchment.

 _My husband will suffer a calamity on his way north. Perhaps in the Riverlands._

Aluvin stared at the words a moment. _Unpleasant or fatal?_

 _Not accident or poison, disease if possible. And a condition that will become fatal.  
_

Aluvin nodded. _A whorehouse special?_

That would suit Robert well. _You have understood my intentions precisely._

 _He will never arrive in Winterfell._

 _I want a long illness, but no raving or madness._

 _It will be so_ , Aluvin wrote.

Cersei burned the parchment and stirred the ashes. Steffon would get to be king for a time without the pressure of the crown, for his father would be incapacitated, not dead.

"I wonder if we dare risk sending Raymont to Oldtown now," Cersei said. Damn Pycelle...

"I shouldn't think it a safe plan, your Grace."

Cersei frowned. "No."

She would have to rethink what to do with her smartest boy. Tutors? She would have to be more careful of maesters now. Aluvin was safe, long proved reliable, but anyone new... Perhaps schooling in Essos? Was that a possibility?

"Begin again with the prisoners early on the morrow."

"It shall be so."

Aluvin was going to have a sleepless night, she knew. He had a difficult thing to arrange, the incapacitation of a King.

X-X-X

Cersei went to Steffon's room shortly before he was expected to be abed. He was barely less tall than his father, thought far less stout. He was shaving already and liked to keep a clean face.

"Do I get to go with Father? I've always wanted to see the place Father loves so much."

He said the right words, but Cersei wasn't sure if her oldest child meant them. She wondered if Steffon just wanted to know his father better, whatever the conditions attached.

When Robert remembered he had children, he told them stories about the Vale or the North. Rarely about the Stormlands where he had come from. It was always the Arryns or the Valelords or the Starks. He was a good storyteller, but poor as a father and a ruler.

Still, Steffon and Cassana and the others tried to gain his attention.

"No. No, I told him that your youngest siblings are too little to travel. I would not have you away for so long without me."

Steffon just nodded. Had he set his heart on the trip, he would have protested. He had been interested because it would have been time with his Father. Perhaps. The boy had no love for what he saw of Robert, but he still had hope for better days.

King's Landing hadn't ground the elemental hope out of him, thankfully.

"I'll miss Uncle Jon," Steffon said.

"I find I will, too." The funny part was that she meant it. Jon had been calm, a bit of a schemer, of course, but calming to Robert. He had made countless mistakes, some that had gotten him killed, but he had been a good man. He had tried his hardest – and there was little more important to a man's legacy than that. Better to succeed, of course, but there was no success without the hundreds or thousands of attempts.

"I don't understand Father wanting to go north for his Hand. I would have Uncle Stannis help more."

Steffon was careful of criticizing Robert, but he always said enough to let Cersei know what he thought.

"Well, your Father is thinking of when he was young. He and Lord Stark became good friends."

And that made Steffon sad. "I'm too old to foster."

No sense lying to him. He had stayed here because of how unsettled the realm was, to be true. "Yes."

"I wish I had a friend like Father had."

Yes, Steffon's life in court had been a lonely one. Just younger siblings and the occasional child of a visiting lord. Robert had kept him from befriending the children of the servants – and, to be true, Cersei had as well. He was to be a King.

"My best friend is Cassana most days, when she's being nice. Is it wrong that I wished I had more friends?"

"No. We all do."

"Did you have a lot of friends?"

Ah, now he was trying to figure her out. "A few close ones. Unfortunately, they suffered before the war and none of them are alive today," Cersei said.

"I'm sorry."

"Thank you."

Steffon really was troubled. "Father's face looks redder and he's gained weight again."

"I've noticed."

"The worst thing I can say is that I don't respect my own father. But it's true. I tried to be excited for the trip. I was when he first announced it, but..."

He knew what the trip would have been like. Months on the road, months of being ignored. "And you should never say it to anyone you don't absolutely trust."

"Raymont feels the same. I've never said it to Lyonel or Cass..."

"Cassana. Don't shorten names unless you're invited."

Steffon rolled his eyes.

"He's not going to last much longer, is he? He was sweating just from walking up the stairs earlier."

"I don't know."

"I do. I'm not ready, Mother."

And her heart broke from those few words.

"We're never ready," Cersei said.

"I know." He seemed sorry to have brought the topic up.

"I'll speak truly. I thought I was ready for you, but I wasn't. You were an easy baby, thankfully, but I wasn't ready. I learned from you. I was better for Cassana and Lyonel. Raymont was easy. Then I had twins and triplets. I'm learning it all over again, my son. We're never ready for any opportunity."

"You mean trouble?"

She smiled. "Perhaps. Could you tell me why you're nervous?"

"As a future King?"

"Yes."

"I'm nervous about leading men in battle."

Steffon really could already foresee unrest when Robert died. He had paid close attention and learned. "So add more lessons with Ser Barristan. He's about as fine a man at war as there is."

"Practice in the yard isn't battle."

"But it makes it easier."

"Yes." He nodded. "I'm nervous about Grandfather."

Smart boy. "Why?" she asked, so he would lay his thoughts in front of her.

"I don't understand him."

"I don't either," she admitted.

Steffon grinned a little. "He says he's about family, your family, the Lannisters."

"Yes."

"I don't think he is. But he believes what he says. He just doesn't do it."

"And why do you think that is?"

"Don't be mad?"

"Of course not."

"You look at Uncle Tyrion the same way that Grandfather does."

Cersei nodded. Her son was already a better person, more observant and honest, than she was.

Yes, Tyrion was someone who could drive her mad. Worse than Robert. It was completely an unreasonable hatred, but it was there. Every time he did something foolish or got into trouble. Which wasn't infrequently.

"You're right."

"I know." He was sad now.

He was so perceptive. She just needed to make sure he found people, advisors, he could trust. She might hate them, but so long as they served her son well, she would make peace with them. Even including Stannis Baratheon, who Steffon actually liked.

"We all have our faults. You quarrel with Cassana some times..."

"I do. I admit it. But some of the things she says..."

Cersei's two oldest were very different people. Friends some days, competitors on the others. Lately Cassana liked to play word games and flirt with visiting young men. In another year or two, it might be a little scandalous, but it was also a way for her to deal with the frustrations of court life.

For Cassana did not enjoy dressing in gowns. She had never expressed an interest in learning the sword, but she had no love for being paraded around at feasts. She told stupid people, especially stupid suitors, when they were being stupid.

She wore her honesty a little too freely. She was a daughter of a King so it might never cost her. Then again, it might...

"My boy, you will be the best of kings because you care, you learn, and you wish to improve. You listen to all sides and figure out which is the good advice, and which is not. You look at what men do, not just what they say. That will serve you well."

"Is that all being a King is? Listening to liars and finding out the truth?"

"Often, yes. That is what being a King normally is."

Steffon sighed.

"There are crises, too. That is when one is made or broken. But will you know a crisis when you first see it? Or will it look like every other matter? If you are careful and respectful of the little things..."

"Then I will be prepared when they really matter," he said.

"See? Sitting in for your Father on the Iron Throne has taught you some things." Even if Steffon had only handled small disputes and received gifts on his father's behalf.

"I'm going to make Lyonel and Raymont and eventually Joffrey do that, too."

Cersei had never even considered that. She should have, though. It was good that Steffon loved his family. "They should all be trained that way. They will hold keeps for you some day, perhaps important ones."

Steffon seemed to have already given that some thought. "Do you know Lord Stark?"

That was an unexpected topic. "Not well."

"You don't like him."

She didn't like Robert – and, by extension, cared little for the things, or people, Robert valued. "I don't know him. He's a good man in a fight, that is true. But I do not know how he will like our city and our brand of liars."

"But Father likes him."

"As I said, your Father likes to think of the past. His memories of 'Ned Stark' help him do that. Who knows what the man is like now."

"I would like to meet him."

Perhaps Steffon would some day. But not a Ned Stark playing Hand to the Whoremaster. "Good," Cersei said. "You should always see for yourself."

"And I will travel to every one of the Kingdoms."

Cersei smiled. "As you wish."

X-X-X

Robert rode out early the next morning, before Maester Aluvin resumed his questioning of Lysa Arryn.

The questioning of the many guilty continued through the day, but Cersei spared only a little time for it. She did collect summaries as news broke. She spent several hours with her children in the Godswood, as she promised.

It was at supper when she ordered in the desert, honeyed spice cakes, when a messenger interrupted. King Robert had returned.

Cersei tore threw the Red Keep toward the rooms where her husband was now supposed to be.

Robert was on a bed, insensate and covered in dry blood. Had Aluvin's man been too early and far too clumsy?

"What in the Faith of the Seven happened to him?" Cersei asked.

Ser Barristan looked ashamed. "He was speaking with one of the knights who was riding along and retelling a story."

"Which knight?" Cersei asked.

Ser Barristan named someone. No one. A hedge knight. Figures Robert would waste the hours on a nobody.

"Continue."

"He got into his story. His arms were in the air waving...and he unseated himself. He bashed his skull into a rock," Ser Barristan whispered.

"Had he much to drink?" Cersei demanded.

Ser Barristan frowned. Yes.

She pulled everyone away once the healers and maesters arrived. "Let them work. Has he spoken since this happened?" Cersei asked.

"Not intelligibly."

"This _is_ a fine crisis, then. My husband pummels himself insensate. The Small Council is largely dead or under close arrest. Get someone to find Stannis. Someone else find Renly. We'll need to have a regent for the time being, until Robert wakes...or doesn't."

"But Steffon is the heir," Ser Barristan said.

"He is the heir. He has not yet seen fifteen name days and his father still lives. This is too heavy a weight for him now."

Ser Barristan approved. "Yes, I can help with his training."

There would be many offers like that beginning soon. She would accept Ser Barristan's and few others. She nodded.

For a man who should have been devastated, Barristan the Bold seemed happy. Had he tired of Robert, too? Was he looking forward to a young king, one who might do other than hold tourneys and avoid sitting on the Iron Throne? Become so drunk he murdered himself upon a rock? The Kingsguard would be feeling that one for a long, long time.

Cersei hoped the gambit would play as well to others as it had to Ser Barristan. A Lannister giving up power, temporarily, to the King's brother so that the Heir could be better prepared in case he needed to ascend to the throne?

Father would be furious, of course. But Cersei had already worked all of this out. She had just expected an additional week or ten days before it started.

All the confusion from this time would cling to Stannis. And none would taint Steffon's legacy.

"Your Grace," one of the minor maesters said, with fear in his voice. He had least had several links in his chain for healing and herb lore.

"Tell me about his condition."

"We have cleaned and dressed the wound on his head. It will heal well."

"Will he wake?"

"I do not know. Even if it does..."

"Out with it."

"He has a pox, an advanced one."

Cersei went furious. It had been just under a year since she lay with her husband... If he had given her this pox.

"So he was sick before he left on his journey? Then he drank too much. You hold out no hope?" she asked.

"He might wake."

"But will he live?"

"I've little hope he will live for long, your Grace. I have seen this pox before. It normally afflicts those much older, but King Robert has...enjoyed his wine for many years. He perhaps has an old man's body already."

So she might have been exposed, but she was of reasonable health.

She made some more noises over her husband's care, when she found she couldn't care at all, then went to find Aluvin. She wanted an examination of her body for this pox. Then Aluvin needed to clear out any possible traces of whatever his actual plan for Robert's incapacitation had been. Robert had made all the strikes in ending his own life. Him, an unclean whore, and whatever flagon of wine he'd had in his hand earlier today.

She decided to let this bit of gossip circulate. He would die as he had lived, mocked for his excesses.

It was late, well past dark, when Stannis came to her solar. "Have you seen your brother?" she asked.

"I made them clean the dried blood off him."

"Please sit," Cersei said. "Has anyone found Renly?"

"I am told he returned to Storm's End." Stannis remained standing.

As for Renly, it was convenient. Another one in the know? Even Robert's brothers had conspired to murder Lord Arryn?

"I sent him a raven to return," Stannis said.

Cersei added nothing of her thoughts. Let these two petty brothers squabble. But if Renly had had a hand in this...

She turned herself to business. "While Robert is ill, you will serve as Regent."

"To Steffon?"

"No, to your brother."

"He is dying. You heard about the pox?"

"And, to my shame, had myself examined. I have ever been a pure and faithful wife to him. I avoided whatever it is he caught."

Stannis nodded. He had probably been keeping an eye on her fidelity. "Robert is as good as dead. In such a stupid way."

"Yet he may well wake up tomorrow, bellowing orders," Cersei says. "The pox, I am told, is not a quick death."

"Regent? Me? I suppose this was his idea?"

He was daring her to lie to him, to tell him some sweetness when the truth was all bitter. He wanted truth?

"No. When I proposed your name for Hand, Robert laughed. This is my idea."

Stannis nodded at that. "Why not have Steffon act as 'Regent?'"

He was such a prickly thing. But best to do all this at the start. Cersei knew she couldn't lie or shade the truth with him. Stannis knew what Robert thought of him. Stannis possessed grudge after grudge, but it did not make him a foolish man, just unbearable.

"Steffon needs to complete his education before the scum of this court set upon him. His father's incapacity will be bad enough for lickspittles trying to become his friend. Him as Regent or King will be even worse. You, and I to a lesser extent, must shield Steffon until he is fully ready for the work."

Stannis judged her words true. "Who will be Hand? Will you summon Lord Stark?"

"Ser Barristan will act as Hand, but I will suggest that Lord Stark make the journey south, quickly, to see his old friend."

"The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard?"

"Can you think of anyone who has seen as much as him? Or one as loyal? Or as fine a mind in a turbulent time? He is not a peacetime appointment, not really."

Stannis fixed his face. He was displeased but unable to say why that was. "It's unconventional."

What it was was convenient. It kept a new face from appearing in King's Landing for now. There would already be enough new faces what with the troubles in the Small Council. This had started as Lord Arryn dying, now the King was almost dead and most of his advisors were under arrest for culpability in the last Hand's death.

"And I do not know whether I want Lord Stark to come or not," Stannis said.

"You dislike him?"

"Robert's view of him has colored over whatever he really is. I do not have a true notion of the man. Perhaps it is useful to gain one."

He expected honesty from others. So he was brutal with his own honesty. Yes, prickly, but not impossible to manage.

"I want Storm's End," Stannis said. "It's my right."

Soon enough it would be Steffon's right to settle it. "And what will you do with your younger brother who now holds it? Or Robert, if he does wake up?"

"Upon Robert's death, then."

Cersei was a little surprised that Stannis was willing to make a deal of any sort. Perhaps his years of frustration had taught him a little bit of flexibility. "I will speak to Steffon on this matter. I think I can bring him around. You will need to find something for Renly."

"Send him to the Wall. Make him useful at least."

The hatred ran deeper there than Cersei had ever dared to plumb. She had not known. Another thing she hadn't bothered to look into. She, too, had sheltered behind Jon Arryn's mastery of his realm. Yes, he had had Seven Kingdoms to manage, but even before that, he had been playing three brothers off of each other.

"One thing I must know. Why me, Queen Cersei?"

"For all your sternness, you do like your nephews and nieces. I've watched you with them. You would do the right things by Steffon."

"Yes."

"You like your future king, I dare say, better than you like Robert or Renly."

"I like most stones in the road better than Robert. They're more useful."

Cersei laughed.

"So you will serve?"

"I will do as the Kingdoms require, your Grace, as I ever have. I am just surprised you have not called your Father to this work. I expect his grim visage to arrive at some point."

She had to be honest even on this point. Whether Stannis would accept her honesty, she couldn't say. "I am my Father's daughter, it is true. But we have a complicated relationship. I am well pleased with him staying in the Westerlands."

"He would try to take over here, if he were Regent or Hand?"

"Now you see why I prefer him keeping a stern eye over the Westerlands. Those Ironborn are ever plotting."

"Yes," Stannis said, referring to one or many things. Who knew with him?

X-X-X


End file.
